


Some Other End

by Lexin



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexin/pseuds/Lexin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Boromir survived Amon Hen, Denethor was not driven insane by the palantír and Frodo is offered an unexpected reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Other End

Part I

"Advice to persons about to marry. -- Don't."  
Punch, vol. viii p1 1845.

"What did my father want?" From what Faramir knew of hobbits, which was still too little, Frodo appeared amused. In which case, he could not imagine what his father could have said.

Frodo joined him on the bench overlooking the city and the rebuilding of Minas Tirith's largest tower. "Were we at home in the Shire, I would believe that I had been asked my intentions towards you. As we are not, I have no idea what to make of it."

"Your intentions?" Faramir stared in increased puzzlement. "What kind of intentions?"

"I believe he was asking me when I am going to wed you."

Faramir could not stop himself. He laughed. "He was joking," he said, when finally able to control himself. "He must have been."

Frodo laughed along with him, but with less force. He said, "If it were anyone but your father, I would agree, but from what little I know of him I would not consider Denethor a man who indulges in practical jokes. Or jokes of any kind."

"Perhaps Queen Arwen..."

"The Queen has been known to tease me...and you. And Aragorn for that matter. But I doubt even she has caught Denethor in one of her jests."

They sat for a while in silence, watching the sunset.

At last Faramir said, "What do you really believe my father wanted?"

Frodo shrugged, eloquently.

"Do not protect me, Frodo. He wants me gone from here. I...my presence is a humiliation to him." They looked at each other and Frodo opened his mouth. Faramir spoke first, "I know this to be true." Somehow saying it himself was less painful.

"Your father is fond of you," said Frodo.

Faramir heard the unsaid. "But he loves Boromir."

"Yes."

"Everybody loves Boromir."

"Not everyone, Faramir," said Frodo. "Come, we will be late for dinner." He stood, and Faramir followed him.

**

Most nights at Minas Tirith, dinner was the main entertainment, and, most nights, Faramir sat beside the lady Éowyn of Rohan, with Boromir on her other side. He could see Frodo and Samwise, as usual placed next to the King, but was too far away to speak to them. His father was placed next to the Queen.

"Little brother!" Boromir's usual greeting. It had lost any sting it might have once possessed the first time Faramir had bested his brother at practise; that didn't happen often, but that it happened at all was a comfort. Unfortunately, their father had never witnessed the phenomenon.

"Some wine, Lord Faramir?" Lady Éowyn, beautiful and kindly. Faramir held out his goblet. When she'd helped him to wine, he immediately added an equal amount of water.

"Still over-careful, little brother?" Boromir smiled.

Faramir smiled back. "As you say," he said. Then, to turn the conversation away from him, "I saw you ride out together; what did you do with your day?"

He knew it had been the wrong thing to ask when Éowyn turned to Boromir and blushed. But surely his brother would not have... No. Definitely not. Boromir said, "We saw the remains of Osgiliath; the engineers are beginning to work on the reconstruction."

"The sewers are most interesting," Éowyn's voice was laced with a laugh.

"The sewers?" said Faramir. "Surely, my brother, you did not take the lady to visit the sewers."

"Nothing else would please her," replied Boromir.

Faramir realised there was some joke here, something from which he was excluded, but he smiled dutifully.

"And you? What did you with your day?" Éowyn's gentle tone robbed the question of anything other than polite enquiry.

"I showed Frodo the library; he is learned among his kind and has long wanted to see it."

"You managed to separate him from Samwise? An achievement indeed!"

There seemed to Faramir an odd expression in the Éowyn's eyes, and he looked down at the white of the table cover. "Indeed, my Lady."

"And then? For it cannot take all day to look at a library - can it, Boromir?"

Faramir hoped his surprise did not show. He knew well that indeed it could take all day to look at a library, and after today he knew also that Frodo agreed with him. Éowyn was still looking at him, her beautiful brow slightly creased.

Boromir's turn to laugh, "I would say not, my lady, but my brother can spend a week in a library and the Ringbearer would appear to be another of the same kind."

Faramir felt his face grow hot. Once again he was compared with Boromir and found wanting. He looked up at Frodo, who caught his eye. He'd enjoyed the day spent with Frodo and Mithrandir, the slightly musty smell of the books and scrolls which so slowly revealed their treasures to the curious mind. He could not regret it.

He turned around as Éowyn patted his arm reassuringly, and wondered what he should say, but before he could speak, her attention was on Boromir again. With no one to talk to, Faramir looked up to the King's table and to his father, now engaging the attention of Queen Arwen. From the Queen's expression he'd been talking for some time.

**

"You are difficult to find, Lord Faramir, and no mistake." Samwise fell into such step beside him as was possible.

"Ah, Samwise," said Faramir, slowing slightly. " I was at practise." Like all Gondorians, he struggled with the nicknames the hobbits used. It felt wrong to him to shorten someone's name, as if he were giving short measure.

"So I was told. I want a word with you, private-like. Is there somewhere nearby we can go?"

"I was going to my rooms in the White Tower, you can accompany me there if you like."

"No, that wouldn't be wise. Are there Inns in this city?"

Faramir stopped and thought. "Indeed, there is -- there was -- a clean wine shop near here." For a wonder there still was, and Samwise chose a seat, as much at home as if he were in his own rooms. Rather less comfortable in these surroundings, Faramir chose a low seat so that he and Samwise were eye to eye.

"Good ale here," Samwise lifted his mug and drank appreciatively.

"Yes."

"Almost as good as at home."

"You, and Frodo too, will return there soon? Is that what you sought me out to tell me?"

Samwise seemed to come to himself somewhat. "No. No, that wasn't it. I have a message from Queen Arwen."

The silence stretched and Faramir said, "Go on. It cannot be urgent if it can be delivered in a wine shop, but I would hear it."

"The Queen wants you to know... Would like to warn you..."

Again a wait. Faramir said, "What is your warning?"

"Tonight, at dinner, your father is to announce his betrothal to the Lady Prestoliel."

"The niece of the Prince of Dol Amroth?"

"Yes."

"Why did Boromir not warn me?" Faramir's hands grew cold.

"He hasn't mentioned it because he doesn't know himself. The Queen sent Pippin to warn him." Samwise paused and took another pull on his ale. "Your father also plans to announce your brother's handfasting to Éowyn of Rohan - a surprise to both of them. The Queen knows from Éowyn that they have discussed a match, but she isn't sure of her feelings for your brother."

Faramir coughed, he was lucky he hadn't been taking a sip of his wine. "Surely my father cannot announce this without the agreement of her brother."

"He's got it. It's not crossed Éomer's mind that your father wouldn't have asked Boromir first. I mean, it's not something that Éomer would do to Éowyn is it? He wouldn't dare."

Faramir considered this, "No, he would not."

"But from what I know of your customs, it's not necessary for a father to ask his child before announcing their marriage, whether girls or boys."

"That is so," said Faramir. Indeed, a concern he had not shared even with Boromir was that their father would trothplight him to some chit he had never met while he was out in the field. That would have been further than custom would strictly allow, but that his father was capable of it Faramir did not doubt. He swallowed, "And what does he have planned for me?"

"He'd like to announce your marriage, but he's having difficulty gaining the agreement of the other party."

"Who is?"

"My master, Frodo." This time Faramir did choke on his wine, and it was some time before he could speak again.

"Better now?" asked Samwise.

"Yes," said Faramir, eyes streaming and aware that his throat would hurt for some time. "Thank you." He swallowed some more of his wine. "And will Frodo accept me?"

Samwise considered. "Hobbits are oft accused of bluntness, Captain Faramir. The question is, do you want him to?"

"There are risks..."

"Frodo knows that. Your father will talk of the handfasting as a thank-offering to the Ringbearer and the Shire. If Frodo says no, he's ungrateful in the eyes of all of Gondor. Daft, but that's what folks'd say."

"I could refuse," Faramir began, and then stopped. His father would merely imply refusal shamed them all, that he did not appreciate the Ringbearer's sacrifice. A thought struck him, "But my handfasting now requires King Elessar's permission."

"I thought of that," said Samwise. "It's come up in the negotiations. It strikes me, though, that if Strider..." Faramir smiled at the use of the King's nickname and Samwise corrected himself hastily, "...King Elessar refuses for you, you father could make it look as if he doesn't appreciate what Frodo went through to get him his throne." Samwise took a swallow of his ale. "I don't think that'd go down too well."

"And despite everything, there are a few malcontents who are not pleased to have the king restored," said Faramir.

"Your city is more like Hobbiton than I expected."

"In what way?"

"However much a change is an improvement, there's always someone who preferred it the way it was," Samwise smiled.

Faramir put is goblet down, "Ah. I see what you mean."

There was a silence, and then Samwise said, "There's something else."

"What?" Faramir had been deep in thought, and it took a moment for him to pull himself out of it.

"Frodo's been through more than enough. I know you men of Gondor think a lot of your honour, but if you accept and make him miserable you'll catch it hot from me. Just so's you understand that." Faramir stared, slightly stunned at his force, and Samwise took another pull on his ale. "I'm dealing with your father over this - and a tricky one he is and no mistake. Let me know what you decide by dinner time tomorrow." Samwise put his mug down and stood to leave, "Thank you for the ale."

Faramir sat alone in the wineshop over the lees of his wine for a very long time. His face must have been grim, for none dared approach him.

He hoped the lack of attention he paid to his food that night would be put down to a day spent drinking; he knew his father would have no difficulties in ascribing it to that cause. He saw Denethor's eyes on him, and tried to regret appearing every bit as worthless as his father thought him. He did not miss the glances between Éowyn and Boromir, and Boromir, who would normally have made some jest about his brother spending the day in a wine shop, held his tongue.

"Did Sam warn you?" Boromir asked, as the servants brought in the sweetmeats and fruit.

Faramir nodded, minutely.

"And what of you?" asked Éowyn.

"That is a tale for another day," said Faramir.

"So there is..." Éowyn was unable to finish; the Steward had called for silence.

**

The hobbits and Mithrandir had been placed in the lodgings the city reserved for the most honoured guests. Faramir knew this at least partly because of the afternoon he had spent at practise in the company of one of the Prince of Dol Amroth's captains. The man had felt, though he was careful not to say so in so many words, that his master was slighted because of it.

Faramir himself had never previously visited this house. Though such honoured guests had given dinners to which the Steward had been invited, if any showing-off of sons had been expedient the chosen one would be Boromir. In Boromir's absence on campaign or during his journey to Imladris, Denethor had elected to show no son.

The house was impressive, far more so than the rooms in the Tower that Faramir himself occupied, though that did not surprise him. What did was that he could wait so long for a servant to answer the door. Finally, the door was opened by a young man still wiping his mouth free of soup. "I wish to speak with Master Samwise," said Faramir.

The young steward pulled a long face, "I think he's out, my Lord."

"Please find out for me."

"At once, my Lord."

"Tathar tells me that you wanted a word with Sam," said Frodo, when he appeared a few moments later.

"Yes," Faramir could not help but be surprised by the sudden appearance of one who had been filling his thoughts but whom he had not seen or spoken to for a couple of days.

"I don't think he'll be long. Come in."

"I..." Faramir began.

"We will not be alone," said Frodo, impishly. "Pippin is here. I trust that will be sufficient of a chaperon for you?" Faramir thought that obviously Frodo had been receiving instruction on Gondorian marriage customs, and equally obviously he thought them absurd.

"I can leave," said Peregrin, as they entered a large and airy room.

"No, you don't," said Frodo. "Just go and sit over there and...read a book or something."

Faramir was hard put to keep from laughing; it was clear that while Frodo had confided all to Samwise, Peregrin remained in ignorance.

"What's going on?"

"Never you mind," said Frodo, then added, "at least for the moment."

"What did you mean by 'chaperon'," said Peregrin.

"Pippin! Go and sit over there and be quiet! I'll tell you when the time is right." Frodo turned back to his visitor, "Please sit down, Faramir." He paused to allow Faramir to do so. "I can think of only one reason, one real reason, why you would come to see Sam."

"To give him my answer."

"And?"

"Tell him I.... That he is to... That I..." Faramir seemed to be having trouble speaking, which hadn't happened to him for a long time. He started again, "Tell him that I agree to handfast with you. And also that I understand his terms and I agree to those also."

Frodo surveyed him seriously, "Am I to know what those are?"

"It is a matter entirely between Samwise and me."

Frodo looked at him for a moment longer, and nodded. "I will convey your words to him." He smiled, "So Denethor gets what he wants. I hope he's happy with it."

"What is going on?" asked Peregrin, who had clearly not gone far. "Are you really going to marry Faramir?"

"That is his father's earnest wish," said Frodo. He was so solemn that Faramir suspected a joke of some kind.

"But he's... He's a Man."

"And none the worse for that," said Frodo. "At any rate, it's not something he can help or change."

"Is it wise?" asked Peregrin.

"Pippin!" Frodo took Peregrin gently by the shoulders. "Since when has marriage anything to do with wisdom?" He let go.

"What did you mean, that Denethor would get his wish?"

Frodo sighed, "I will speak plainly and hope that Faramir forgives me." Faramir inclined his head. He guessed what was coming. Frodo continued, "You have noticed that Aragorn does not care for Denethor?"

"Yes," allowed Peregrin, unwillingly. Faramir remembered that Peregrin rather admired his father.

"He would replace Denethor with Boromir in an instant and with Faramir in somewhat less. Denethor has also noticed this. Denethor has therefore arranged Boromir's marriage to Éowyn and his naming of Prince of Ithilien. It is a promotion for him, and an honour to the House of the Stewards, but as Prince, Boromir will have to live in Ithilien, which is some distance from Minas Tirith and the seat of power.

"Denethor has arranged his own marriage to the Lady Prestoliel, a lady of high and noble birth. On her he will father new heirs.

"That leaves Faramir. He is being offered a choice, if it is a choice, between marriage to me involving a life far away in a place about which Denethor knows nothing, and remaining here, a threat to his father's power."

"I don't see it," said Peregrin. Faramir knew the hobbit reputation for stubbornness was well-deserved. "Lord Denethor would never..."

"Am I not right, Faramir?"

"You are," admitted Faramir. Though he had realised during Frodo's recitation that if Frodo were right about the King's preference for him over Denethor and even Boromir for the position of Steward it was not just political turmoil he risked by remaining, but death. Not by his father's hand, Faramir could not believe his father would harm him knowingly, but even in Gondor there were those slightly too desperate to do the bidding of the powerful.

Peregrin appeared convinced at last. "What sort of a dowry will you get?" he asked, smiling as if at a huge joke. "Don't accept any bent spoons like old Otho ended up with for Lobelia."

Frodo didn't smile back. "It's adequate," he said.

**

The giving of a dowry was not a Gondorian tradition; when one negotiated for a spouse, one was supposed to have a home and sufficient to support them without needing payment from their family. Faramir wondered what his father had made of the idea; he himself didn't know whether to be offended or not. He thought of asking Frodo how much, but on mature consideration he decided against it. That Denethor went along with hobbit custom at all argued that he was desperate to get rid of him. It was probably better that Faramir did not know just how desperate.

No mention of the matter of the dowry was made when Denethor announced Faramir's trothplighting to the assembled Court a few days later. So foreign was it to Gondorian custom that Faramir knew he could have avoided the whole situation by privily letting the information be known among the people, but to do that would have told against his father's honour. Surprisingly, Faramir found that mattered to him even now. And what kind of man would it make him, to avoid an honourable handfasting by dishonourable means?

So, when the announcement was made, he took Frodo's offered hand and did his best to look pleased, flattered and, most importantly, willing.

 

Part II

'Who's 'im, Bill?'  
'A stranger!'  
''Eave 'arf a brick at 'im.'  
Punch, vol xxvi, p.82. 1854.

 

Faramir was careful never to complain in Samwise's hearing about anything for which the blame could possibly, by the remotest stretch of the imagination of men, elves, hobbits or dwarves be laid at Frodo's feet. A dragon could not guard its hoard with greater effort or cunning than Samwise did Frodo's happiness. As a result, Faramir was faced with a very pretty question of ethics, and one which, in his boyhood, his tutors had often set as an essay question to keep him out of trouble while they went about their own affairs: was it more dishonourable to pretend a happiness one did not feel in order to protect others, or to cause their misery by showing one's real emotions. He hoped and trusted that those tutors had never been faced with the daily reality which now confronted him.

The weather as they approached Bree was poor enough to explain any grimness in his expression - rain from the west blowing in their faces and louring grey clouds promising more to come. He rode on in silence, feeling Samwise looking at him once again.

Behind he could hear Frodo urging his pony, which appeared to dislike the weather as much as Faramir did, alongside Samwise. Snatches of their conversation came to him on the wind, "Leave him, Sam. Not his fault..."

"No reason to be..."

"Since when has anyone needed reason? Forbid you to...."

"Very well, if you wish it. But he'd better..."

Faramir urged his own horse ahead and away from them.

**

Before he and Frodo had become handfasted he'd had little trouble holding a conversation with any of the hobbits; now he found himself often unable to find the words. So it was this evening, "I..." he said, then stopped and swallowed. Frodo turned to him, and waited. "I'm not surprised your cousins were so anxious to reach this inn and get out of the weather."

Frodo relaxed minutely, and smiled, "They have fond memories of the ale here, and the victuals."

"Well deserved, Butterbur keeps a good table."

The silence lengthened for a moment. Faramir asked, "Would you...care to lie with me tonight?"

Another of those odd silences which punctuated their life together, then Frodo crossed the room to lay a hand on his face. "You do not have to do this if it displeases you. You know that."

Faramir looked down at Frodo's mouth, close to his own. "I know. It would..." Faramir struggled again to find the right word, "comfort me."

Frodo searched his face for moment more, "Then...yes. It would comfort me, also. I think we are both entitled at least to that."

**

"Why was your door locked this morning?" demanded Samwise as they broke their fast with the other hobbits and Mithrandir in a private parlour.

Faramir felt his face grow hot. Frodo answered, "My apologies, Sam. We forgot to unlock it."

Samwise was looking at Frodo, Meriadoc and Peregrin stared from Faramir to Frodo and back again. Faramir was aware of a fervent hope that the floor swallow him and spit him out somewhere far from here. Far Harad or Rhûn for choice.

There was a small part of Faramir, though, that wanted to corner Samwise in some secluded spot and tell him in the crudest terms exactly what he and Frodo did together, and observe his surprise. Then to add that it was the one thing, the one happiness, that he could offer Frodo that Samwise would not. He recognised full well that this desire to come between them was wholly unworthy and locked it away in his heart.

The stalemate between Samwise and Frodo was broken by the arrival of Butterbur with more bacon, kidneys and mushrooms. Not much caring for mushrooms, Faramir earned the love if not the respect of Meriadoc and Peregrin by leaving the more for them.

"Do you have time to sit with us a while this morning, Barliman?" Mithrandir spoke at last. He appeared not to have noticed the tension between the hobbits.

"Not this morning, sirs. But we were wondering, as you're spending the day here, if you could...that is if you'd be willing to spend part of the morning in the Common Room? You see, there's been some talk and gossip - some around what Master Gandalf and Mr Brandybuck and Mr Took told me last night." He paused a moment, then rushed on, "And the Bree-folk, well, we've questions to put to you all."

"Of course, Barliman," Mithrandir said. Indeed, put that way, they could hardly refuse.

**

The Common Room was larger than Faramir had expected, but full of the men and hobbits of Bree - though Faramir noticed very few women or hobbit-lasses in evidence - it was crowded. He was mostly aware of the eyes upon them; it felt almost like insect eyes. He was accustomed to addressing soldiers, to giving orders, but this felt different, as if they were on trial for some unknown crime.

He was not alone, among all six of them only Mithrandir looked at ease - he produced a pipe, filled it with pipeweed and looked as much at home as in the parlour above.

As he had answered for all of them, Faramir had expected that Mithrandir would take the lead, but Mithrandir looked at Frodo who grimaced and stood to speak. "I am Frodo Baggins. And if some of you recall that on my last visit to Bree I used another name I hope you will forgive me. I did so only out of great need." In as few words as were possible, not that they were few, Frodo told of the journey he and Samwise had made, the destruction of the Ring and the return of the King to Gondor and Arnor.

Not everyone there knew, and some did not believe even when they were told, that the place where they lived was in a country called Arnor. Faramir kept his amusement strictly to himself; he recalled the many fruitless hours spent on the training fields with the most difficult and surly of his father's soldiers attempting to instil some kind of intelligence or at the least, self-protection. Until Boromir left for Imladris, good men had usually been assigned to him, and they had been assigned to him again after his return. He recalled his few successes, the sweeter for being hard won.

The last of the doubters convinced, or at the very least silenced for the nonce, a hobbit who introduced himself as Hugo Greenleaf asked, "Gandalf we know, but who is this Man who sits so silent upon your left?"

Afterwards, Faramir wondered if Frodo had spent the stilly hours of the night during the journey from Gondor planning what he would say when asked this question for he spoke without pause for thought, "He is Faramir, son of the Lord Steward of Gondor and my husband."

Faramir knew at once that Greenleaf's look of astonishment would live on in legend and song in Bree.

"Little cannot wed big," said Greenleaf, when at last he was able to make his mouth work.

"I am afraid you are too late, Mr Greenleaf," said Frodo, possibly too politely. "You should have mentioned that to Faramir's father and King Aragorn before they attended our handfasting."

"And before Denethor gave you half of Eriador for agreeing to it," muttered Samwise under his breath.

Had a silence not fallen at that moment, Faramir would never have caught the remark, and he schooled his face into stillness. Half of Eriador? Truly a dowry fit for a prince. He wondered when - and if - Frodo or Samwise ever planned to him to find out, and indeed, what Frodo's plans for the future were. If he had any.

"Can he speak for himself?" asked a man who had not spoken before, and who did not introduce himself.

"I can," said Faramir. "What would you know of me?"

"Sit down, Gamil Twotrees," interrupted Butterbur.

"No, Barliman..." protested Twotrees.

"I know only too well what kind of question you would ask," said Barliman, sturdily. "And I want none of it in my inn."

"Barliman..."

"Silence!" For a hobbit, Frodo could be loud when he chose to be. "Twotrees may ask Faramir one question." Twotrees looked vindicated, but Frodo went on, "If I approve it as being a question a man may ask of another's handfasted, Faramir may answer. Is that acceptable to you, Barliman?" Faramir wondered what Frodo had seen in Barliman's face that he had missed.

"Very well," said Barliman, but he was still looking at Twotrees with the utmost loathing.

Frodo turned, "Faramir?"

Faramir nodded, once. Whatever local history there was here, he would probably do better to keep his and Frodo's necks out of the noose.

"Mr Twotrees, ask your question." Frodo sat down again.

Twotrees was silent for a time; Faramir supposed he was searching for a question which Frodo would permit. Finally he settled on, "Is it by your wish or that of Mr Baggins that you are married?"

Faramir flicked his gaze to Frodo who nodded. Faramir said, "Mr Baggins approached me through my father, with Mr Gamgee here as intermediary." Twotrees looked at him for a moment, and then sat down. Curiously, there was an almost palpable air of satisfaction among the Breelanders at Faramir's words. Faramir felt Frodo touch the back of his hand and turned his hand over so that their hands were clasped palm to palm, like lovers.

The questions moved on to Meriadoc and Peregrin, and Frodo whispered, "Well done," in a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. "Enough of the truth, but not too much."

Faramir looked at Frodo. He was being praised for lying by omission? But honour did not demand that any man sow unneeded discord among strangers by too close adherence to the exact truth. Small comfort, far greater was the comfort of Frodo's hand in his.

The meeting wound down around lunchtime. Faramir surmised that it was a strange Breelander, hobbit or man, who would rather talk than eat - and also that it had been a thin year for Barliman Butterbur, who intended to make the most of the custom which was now offered him. However, even while he was rushing from room to room filling orders for ale and food, Barliman signalled to Faramir for a private word.

It did not pass unnoticed. As soon as they were alone Frodo asked, "What did old Barliman want?"

"To warn me."

"Against what?" Frodo clearly thought that Faramir could guard himself against most mischances.

Faramir smiled, "I am warned most carefully against ever allowing myself to be alone with Gamil Twotrees."

"Whom you could break across your knee with one hand tied behind you."

Faramir had to admit that was true. In which case, "I do not think it was physical assault I was being warned against."

"I see. I think." Frodo placed his hands on Faramir's shoulders, kneeling behind him on the bed. "Are you still in need of comfort?"

For a moment Faramir wondered what Frodo would think of him, then said, "Yes."

"Then lock the door."

 

Part III

"There was one poor tiger that hadn't got a Christian."  
Punch, vol lxvii, p.143. 1875

Nothing had been said that morning. Probably Meriadoc or Peregrin, Faramir considered Meriadoc to be the most likely, had explained to Samwise exactly what that locked door signified. Samwise was very obviously not happy but was saying nothing. At least, nothing to Faramir; there was a distinct coolness between Frodo and Samwise. Faramir wondered what he should do, and fell back on pretending he had noticed nothing untoward.

As he had said he would, Mithrandir left them before they reached the Buckland Gate. The mood of the hobbits was quiet, almost melancholy; Faramir understood from their conversation that when they had left the Shire there had been no gate, just an open road.

Faramir remained beside Frodo; he could see, through the mess and grime left by the strangers, the outline of a fair and prosperous land, something he had occasionally glimpsed also behind the bones of Ithilien, Ithilien that Boromir now held as Prince, as his sons would after him. Faramir caught his moment of envy and killed it. His brother was not to blame for what had come to pass, and Faramir had a life to lead, wherever it might take him.

The new houses the hobbits pointed out half in horror and half in amusement, were small and mean, but the beds had been built for men not for hobbits, and it was no surprise to him when they began to encounter men who appeared to have orcish blood.

Faramir's heart smote him. He did not mention to Frodo his thoughts that such half orcs as these were not bred in pits; their mere presence told a tale of unimaginable horror on the part of nameless women of Gondor and Dunland.

"What's wrong?" Frodo must have caught sight of his face.

"I am saddened by the damage done to your land," said Faramir. Rather over-formal, but he supposed Frodo was accustomed to that kind of thing from him by now.

"Thank you." Frodo seemed touched, and Faramir looked away, a little self-conscious.

To Faramir, Samwise had always seemed to be a hobbit who knew his own mind and spoke it without fear or favour. Indeed, he had once overheard him accuse King Aragorn of 'foolishness' and for a wonder the King had not rebuked him as Denethor would have done, but asked him for an explanation and, satisfied with Samwise's view, changed his opinion.

It was therefore with some surprise that Faramir noted the flush which coloured Sam's cheek when he spoke to Rose Cotton. Frodo saw him looking and signalled him closer. "Sweethearts," he said, too quietly for Samwise to hear. "Always have been."

"I see," said Faramir.

"Are you quite sure you won't take some more potato, Mr Faramir?" asked Mrs Cotton.

"Thank you, no."

"Don't press my husband, Mrs Cotton," said Frodo. "Men eat less for their size than we do."

Once, when they were boys, Boromir had bought some kind of black and gold striped cat the size of a mastiff from a trader who said he'd had it from a corsair. The stares the cat received while it lived, and that was not long, were akin to the stares Faramir was now receiving from the Cotton family.

"Well, if you're sure?" said Mrs Cotton, and the dish was withdrawn.

**

Faramir took little part in the Battle of Bywater; he understood now what Mithrandir had said before he left: the matter was one the hobbits must settle for themselves. He therefore contented himself with following Frodo's orders.

**

That left Bag End about which Faramir had heard so much, and Sharkey. He looked at Bag End as they approached, and remembered with a pang that surprised him that Bilbo had been utterly unsurprised by his cousin's handfasting to a man. He could see at a glance what the despoiling of Bag End meant to Frodo, even without the tales Bilbo had told him of the old place. As they drew closer the feel of it set his soldiers' instincts to alertness and he nocked an arrow to his bow.

"It's so much harder when it's somewhere you knew and loved," said Frodo.

"I should have shoved my pouch of pipeweed down dear old Saruman's throat," said Meriadoc from behind him.

"And so you should," came a new voice. Faramir had never met Saruman, but knew him instantly from the descriptions he'd heard and read. "Here I am to welcome you back," continued Saruman. "And your peculiar fancy, the son of Denethor. You see, I keep up with all the news."

"Do not speak of the Lord Faramir," said Meriadoc, somewhat to Faramir's surprise.

"And why not?" said Saruman. "The last shame of a fallen house, dancing to the whim of a halfling..."

"You may leave if silent," said Frodo. "But if you continue I will give the order to have you cut down where you stand. Do you understand me?"

"See the halfling, so very lordly, and as he will let me leave, so very kind. He robs even my revenge of honey. Come, Worm!"

"Gríma son of Gálmód?" said Faramir, seeing the man come out from behind the broken door. Though he had heard Mithrandir speak of Gríma's fall, he had not imagined that he would still be with Saruman.

"Yes, indeed," said Saruman. "Are you surprised, son of Denethor?"

Faramir ignored him. "Gríma. I remember when you visited the Court when I was a boy. You came with Théoden on an honourable embassy. You were kind to me." That it was because Théoden himself, despite seeing how Denethor despised him, was first kind went unsaid.

"I remember you," Gríma spoke in a hoarse growl, different from the man Faramir remembered. "Beautiful you were. And braver than your brother, the one whom all loved."

"You do not have to go with him, Gríma," said Frodo. "You can remain here and receive succour until you are ready to go your own way. Back to Rohan if you desire it."

"No!" Saruman's voice was loud in the unbelieving silence. "Worm comes with me."

Frodo spoke again to Gríma, "I know of no wrong you have done me or mine."

"No wrong? His was the hand which cut down Lotho. Poor old Lotho!" Saruman laughed. "Buried him I hope, though his hungers are not those of other men. Best let him come with me."

Gríma shuffled forward as if in pain. "You told me to," he said, like a sulky child who has misunderstood an instruction from a hated tutor and been beaten for it. As he passed Frodo, Gríma's hand reached inside his cloak. Before he could pull the weapon Faramir stepped between them.

The hatred in Gríma's eyes was not for Frodo, or so Faramir judged, nor for himself. He realised too late that Gríma's weapon, swift to his hand, was for Saruman. It went home cleanly; like all men of Rohan and Gondor, Gríma had been trained to arms.

Faramir lowered his bow on Frodo's order, but three of the hobbits did not and Gríma lay dead.

"Look to Saruman," came the voice of Meriadoc. Faramir marvelled as the wizard's power left the body and dissipated into the air around Bag End leaving the shell behind. Out of respect, Frodo covered the face with the end of his cloak.

 

Part IV

Bishop:  
Who is it that sees and hears all that we do, and before whom even I am but as a crushed worm?  
Page:  
The missus, My Lord.  
Punch, vol lxxix. p63. 1880

The end of Saruman was not an end but a beginning. Faramir wrote to the King in Gondor and Frodo sent his note and a letter of his own with some travellers heading south down the Greenway intending to go through the Gap of Rohan. How Farmer Cotton had known of them was a mystery to Faramir, but known he had.

The hobbits then turned their attention to the rebuilding of the Shire and Rose Cotton to the cleaning and setting to rights of Bag End. As Rose said, "For you and Mr Frodo can't stay with us for too long else that bruise on your head will be permanent!"

He was, he knew, a curiosity in Hobbiton. In many ways it was easier to be indoors helping Rose and Mrs Cotton, an invisible curiosity, than outside and a visible curiosity that hobbits would travel miles out their way to see and marvel at. He scrubbed floors, and ceilings, taking instruction where necessary without complaint. The coolness between Frodo and Samwise appeared on the face of it to have been patched up, or so Faramir thought.

He and Rose were working in the kitchen at Bag End when he discovered his mistake. After several days' trial and error, Faramir had managed to mend the stove and they were able to brew tea, "The way old master Bilbo did," as Rose put it.

"Do you remember Bilbo?" Faramir asked, curious.

"Yes, Mr Faramir, sir. A wonderful kind and learned gentlehobbit was Mr Bilbo. Good to Sam and to me, all will tell you so."

"Almost all." Faramir had met Ted Sandyman on a visit he and Frodo made to the Ivy Bush Inn. It had been obvious that Sandyman loathed Frodo and had always disliked Bilbo. Faramir had not told Frodo what he'd overheard Sandyman say about them; on the point of his handfasting it was Frodo who was over-touchy rather than himself.

Rose, who'd witnessed the incident and was also keeping quiet, looked sympathetic. "Pay no heed to anything Ted Sandyman says. He's a fool and always has been."

"May I tell Samwise you said that?" asked Faramir.

"Better you stay out of it, Mr Faramir, like you do between Frodo and my Sam."

Faramir stared at her.

"Bless you, sir. I've known both of 'em all my life. They've had words about something, probably something one of them doesn't care to explain or can't. From the way Sam speaks of you, or doesn't, probably something to do with you. You're staying out of it, and that's only good hobbit sense. Now, I'll get that cake I brought from the farm to have with our tea."

**

Hobbits had an extraordinary capacity for hard work and it was a startlingly few days before Bag End was ready for Frodo and Faramir to move in. Meriadoc had even brought Frodo's furniture from Crickhollow. "And I said I wouldn't do this!" Faramir overheard him say.

Then Frodo's laugh, "Things have changed since then."

Meriadoc caught sight of Faramir listening and smiled at him, "Very much so."

Bag End was more comfortable than the Cottons' farm house; Rose had told him that it was considered by far and away the best hobbit hole for many miles around, and it was certainly the one best able to provide a home for a Man.

It seemed that the only one less than pleased to see them make their home there was Samwise. Whatever the problem was, neither of them were a step closer to discussing it, and Faramir saw the long-suffering expression on Rose's face increasingly often.

Then, one night as winter turned to spring, Samwise came to the door of Bag End. Faramir answered, and Samwise said, "I need to speak to Frodo."

"Of course." Faramir stepped back to allow Samwise indoors out of the night.

"Privately."

That was not like Samwise. Whatever disagreement he and Frodo were having, he was usually polite to Faramir. "Of course," Faramir said again. He led Samwise through to the living room where Frodo was sipping an evening ale. "Samwise is here and wishes to speak to you. Good evening, Master Samwise."

Faramir went to the study, well out the way. There was no lack of reading matter at Bag End as long as the reader was content with matters of interest to Bilbo and Frodo Baggins: Bilbo had taken very few books when he left for Imladris, and nearly all of those left at Bag End had been removed to Crickhollow and then returned by Meriadoc. Books on elven lore rubbed shoulders with books on plants, trees and animal husbandry, and those with the history of hobbits and their lands round about. Some Bilbo had clearly translated himself, and these were hard going indeed as Bilbo's handwriting warred with sometimes obscure subject matter.

Faramir had only just made a choice when Frodo came in. "Has Samwise gone?" was all Faramir could think of to say.

"No, I left him making tea. The matter he wishes to discuss concerns you also. I wanted to explain..."

"Do you want me there?" Faramir did not usually interrupt, but did so now.

"No! The matter I need to explain I could hardly speak of with you there. It will be difficult enough without."

"Go on."

"You know when we...lie together?"

"Yes." Faramir was puzzled. They did so fairly infrequently and never talked of it either before or after. Until now.

"He believes you may harm me."

"Harm you? But I don't..." Faramir trailed off. "Oh. I understand. Then you will have to tell him the truth of the matter."

"You have no objection to him knowing?"

"Had I understood the nature of the disagreement between you, I would have told you to tell him before we left Bree. I know Samwise too well to believe that he would tell anyone else." Faramir considered the matter for a moment, "But why now?"

Frodo smiled, "Rosie won't accept him until he makes it up with me."

"Poor Sam. You will have to tell him, then." Faramir turned back to his abandoned book.

**

Faramir had gone to bed when he heard the round front door of Bag End close. A moment or two later and the door to his bedroom opened. "Are you asleep?" asked Frodo.

"Not yet."

"May I come in?"

He could see Frodo's outline in the orange light from the fire in his room, but not his expression. Faramir sat up. "Was he satisfied with what you told him?"

Frodo padded over to the bed, and sat down on the side. "I hope so. It occurred to me that it must have been something of a lonely evening for you."

"I read," said Faramir, knowing Frodo would understand. Both of them considered books to be friends.

"And I wondered if you might care for some company."

Faramir hoped the sudden flush of heat to his face was hidden by the firelight, "Company would be welcome, yes."

Frodo leaned upwards to kiss him then stopped. "You would say if you found what we do unpleasant?"

Their lips met, and then parted again. "I would find some way of drawing the matter to your attention." Faramir opened his mouth to the kiss and tasted the tea Frodo had been drinking...tea and seed cake? Yes, seed cake.

After a time of this, Frodo said, "Sam seemed to think that no Man could find a hobbit satisfying."

"As he is not you and is most definitely not me, I would say he is not qualified to judge the matter." Faramir lay back, allowing Frodo to unlace his nightshirt. He saw the look of doubt still on Frodo's face and added, "If it would please you, I can assure Master Samwise of my absolute and complete satisfaction at your hands."

Frodo removed the offending garment, then said, "I think not. It would shock him out of ten years growth. As they say, 'Separate not a hobbit from his unreasoned beliefs'."

"Who says that?" said Faramir as he began to unbutton Frodo's shirt.

"I have no idea. But if it is not a saying, it ought to be."

 

Part V

I am not hungry; but thank goodness I am greedy.  
Punch vol lxxv. p290 1878

Had Faramir ever considered the matter he would not have expected a hobbit wedding to be enjoyable. His own handfasting, under the eye of his father and the king, had been a rather solemn affair, he could now see why Peregrin and Meriadoc had felt something lacking. If by 'lacking' they meant that nobody danced on tables or round maypoles (though it was not May), nobody fed beer to their pig, and there were no children throwing cake, it certainly had been. On the other hand, and here Faramir averted his eyes, nobody had been sick over a fence.

He tried to imagine his father at a hobbit wedding - the wine seemed to be going to his head - and failed. He had no trouble with Arwen or with Aragorn, though he did have to think of them that way rather than as king and queen, and could even see Elrond in this setting. Boromir would have a fine time, and Éowyn was never standoffish with anyone. But not Denethor. He could suck the joy out of a May morning.

"Hugo!" Frodo addressed the hobbit who had been lecturing Faramir for some time. "May I interrupt? Faramir, I need you to help me with something."

"Certainly, certainly," Hugo waved a hand a little vaguely. "I like your young Man, Frodo. Very sound on pigs."

"Oh, good," said Frodo.

"What did you want me for?" asked Faramir as they crossed the field.

"Nothing. I thought Hugo must have got onto pigs again. You have to stop him before he starts or he can go on for hours."

"He had. But I was thinking about something else, so it didn't matter."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Listen and look interested and think about something else at the same time."

"Practise," said Faramir, thinking of Minas Tirith. "If you'd grown up as I did you could probably do it, too."

They chose a bench near Farmer and Mrs Cotton; Rose's parents were turned out in their very best clothes, and Faramir was rather impressed with how fine those were.

Mrs Cotton looked across at them as they sat, "Oh, Mr Frodo, I've a letter for you. Came up from Sarn Ford last night it did, and I put it in my bag to bring." She searched in the basket for a few moments and then passed it over. She looked a little disappointed when Frodo tucked the package inside his waistcoat and took no more notice of it.

**

Next morning, Faramir had something of a headache. Frodo was rarely troubled with hangovers but the hearty red wine of the hobbits always affected Faramir. He was therefore somewhat less than his usual gracious self on entering the kitchen. "What is it?" he asked on seeing Frodo.

"I've had a letter from the King," said Frodo.

"From Aragorn? What does it say?"

"Here." Frodo threw it across the table. "He's making me Prince of Eriador." Frodo waited until Faramir had read the letter and said, "What shall I do?"

"Rule," said Faramir. "You can hardly refuse."

"But I don't know what a prince does. It would be much better had he made you..."

"He can't. It would offend my father to have both his sons made princes and not extend the same title to him. Better to give the job to the Ringbearer whom all admire than to the man Denethor has told them all his life is worth very little."

Frodo looked horrified, "Did your father say that to you?"

"He told Boromir once that he knew me and that I had few uses, yes. But he did not know that I was within hearing." Faramir sighed. "I think he would have much preferred it had I been a maid-child. There were a great many princes in the south, and not many princesses. I would have had a great deal more value to him."

"There's a couple of letters for you, too," Frodo pushed them across the table.

"This one's addressed to you," Faramir picked up one in Aragorn's hand.

"I know. But it's actually for you; I just reached the part where Aragorn says that Denethor has told him that it is not permitted for a man to write to another's spouse to whom he's not related by blood. Then I stopped. I'm not reading your letters, whatever 'Gondorian custom' your father has invented on the spot to humiliate you."

"Thank you," Faramir was rather surprised at how angry Frodo sounded. "It is a real custom," he said. "Though a very old fashioned one, and even then mostly applied to women." From Frodo's snort as he stood to make breakfast, Faramir gathered he wasn't impressed.

By the time breakfast had been cooked and served, Faramir had read all the letters. Frodo looked politely interested, but asked no questions. Faramir let him wait for a few minutes while he finished his tea, and then said, "You can read them if you like. Father still despises me; Aragorn says I am to help you with your new duties. My brother's wife has had a baby, it's a boy. My father's wife has had a girl. Boromir is thrilled of course, and father is furious, but not admitting it." He shifted the cup in its saucer, then added, "Do not tell my father I said so, but it is a relief to live here and not at Court. There is something I would ask, though?"

"Go on," said Frodo.

"What does Aragorn mean when he comments that you own half of Eriador?"

Frodo coloured in a way rather unlike him. "Your dowry...your father had little gold, war is an expensive business even when you win." Frodo took a deep breath, "Sam negotiated a series of land transactions between your father, Aragorn, Queen Arwen and me. The end result is that I own a substantial portion of land between the Brandywine River and the Mitheithel, the river we call the Hoarwell. And Bag End, of course, which Lobelia returned to me."

Faramir considered this. "That makes you probably the wealthiest person alive who is not actually the King," he said.

"In land, perhaps. And only through you."

"Is the size of my dowry a measure of my father's desperation to be rid of me?" Somehow, that idea still hurt.

"Don't blame Sam," said Frodo. "He was trying to make the dowry so large that your father would drop the idea. As you can tell, he didn't succeed."

In other words, yes, or so Faramir thought. He picked up and re-read Aragorn's letter. "He says he will be in Bree on mid-year's day for your investiture."

"My...?"

"The ceremony in which you are made a prince."

Frodo went still for a moment, and then he said, "Let us hope he does not bring your father."

**

Bree appeared to be ready for a fine old time. All the flags were out, obviously made for the occasion, some of them out of someone's old frocks. There were flowers in profusion everywhere, in window boxes but also on street corners where the unwary, and the drunk, would trip over them.

Fully half of the Shire had made the journey to Bree with Faramir and Frodo. Frodo had been all for keeping this a secret, and that had worked well until Jolly Cotton had taken a bushel of Longbottom Leaf to Bree in early April. They had been preparing for the King's visit even then and on the tip of Jolly's wagging tongue, the story of Frodo's imminent elevation went around Hobbiton, Bywater, and even Michel Delving in somewhat less than a trice.

Of course the likes of Ted Sandyman thought it a huge joke and took to calling him 'Prince Frodo' immediately. Samwise, on the other hand, appeared genuinely delighted. It had been clear to Faramir that he had long felt Frodo received insufficient admiration from his fellow hobbits, admiration they gave Meriadoc, Peregrin and even Samwise himself as of course. That he'd brought a Man from foreign parts and lived with him as a husband added to Frodo's notoriety and to the legend of 'Mad Baggins', but gained him no admiration.

"I'm glad to see you both here at last!" said Barliman Butterbur as they dismounted from the horse and pony in his stable yard. "Bob! Bob, take their horses, I know you've been keeping a place for 'em. And I've your rooms all ready, Mr Baggins, sir. Or should I say Prince Frodo?"

"Not for a few days yet," said Frodo. "Let me keep my plain hobbit name while I can."

Butterbur led the way into the inn, which seemed to be heaving with people. "Business is good, then, Barliman?" asked Faramir.

"That it is, Mr Faramir, sir. We're that busy I don't know if I'm on my head or my heels, if you see what I mean?"

"Only too well."

"To think of it, a King staying at the Pony! I never thought I'd live to see it! And he's brought his good lady. I should say, Queen Arwen. And a mort of other lords and princes. There's one of 'em who says he's your brother, though I wasn't sure whether to believe him. He sort of looks like you right enough..."

"Boromir's here?"

"Yes, that's his name. Boromir. Nice enough young fellow..."

Frodo broke in, "When we've had a chance to wash and have something to eat, could you send Boromir to us?" He looked up at Faramir, "You'll want to see him privately?"

"Yes."

"I'll do my best for you, Mr Baggins," said Barliman.

"Thank you, Mr Butterbur."

**

Faramir jumped every time someone knocked on their parlour door, first at Bob with hot water, then at Butterbur himself with Nob at his heels bringing food.

"Calmly!" said Frodo, laughing. "You'll upset something, probably the milk." Then, "You've really missed your brother, haven't you?"

Faramir looked up, seeing only sympathy on Frodo's face, "Yes. More than I can say. More than I was aware of."

A further knock on the door, and Faramir was met with a hug from Boromir. Caught up in this he did not realise for a moment that his brother was not alone, and then it took him a moment to compose himself. "Father." He held a hand out to Denethor who took it disdainfully and let go as quickly as he could.

"How are you, my brother?" Boromir was the first to break the silence.

"Well. Thank you." Faramir cursed himself silently that he was always so stilted before his father. "How is Éowyn? Did she travel with you?"

"Alas no, she..."

"The lady is again with child," said Denethor. It was not possible to tell if he approved or did not, but Faramir saw his brother's frozen expression and gathered that he did not.

"Perhaps you would care to join me in the remains of a meal, Lord Denethor?" said Frodo. "It would permit my husband and his brother to re-acquaint themselves." In politeness, Denethor could hardly refuse this invitation and thus Faramir was freed to sit with Boromir next to the window at the other end of the room.

"How are matters with you?" Boromir asked, his voice quiet. "When you left Minas Tirith I wondered..."

"Well," said Faramir. "Truly. I am not unhappy. And you? How is life as a father?"

Boromir smiled, joy in every line of his face, "He is already a prodigy - I can tell he's going to be an outstanding warrior."

"Will there be ought left to fight? You shock me, my brother, I had imagined peace in the southlands..."

"Have you taken to smoking that infernal pipe-weed?"

"Not yet." Faramir felt his face heat slightly. He had tried it one night when Frodo had been away, but had been thoroughly sick and resolved never to repeat the experiment. "And father?" He lowered his voice, "How does he do?"

Boromir's expression spoke volumes to one who knew him well, but he said, "Well enough."

"Good. And the Lady Prestoliel?"

"She is well."

There was clearly more behind that than Boromir could say, Faramir would have to wait for a more auspicious moment to hear it.

**

Dinner that night was a semi-public event with the King and Queen presiding and Frodo and Faramir with them. The room was the largest hall Bree had to offer, and it was not over-large. It was also rather cold, despite it wanting only a few days to midsummer.

From the expression on his father's face, Faramir thought he knew Denethor's opinion on the accommodations and the food. He therefore ensured Denethor heard him congratulate Barliman Butterbur and the folk of Bree on their efforts. He would not, could not, allow their people to be sneered at because their service did not match a King's house and servants who had trained over generations. Denethor's sneer narrowed to him alone.

**

Night came on and Faramir and Frodo returned to their rooms at the Inn. Frodo said, "I heard what you said to Boromir."

Curse those sharp hobbit ears, they missed nothing. Faramir, already in bed, looked up at him. Frodo's face was unreadable. Faramir said, "Did you?"

"About not being unhappy. Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean you expected to be so and married me anyway?"

"I had no clear expectation." He held his hand out, "Frodo, come to bed. Please? There is something I would ask of you."

Frodo climbed in beside him but remained sitting, "What is this thing? I warn you, if a great deal of effort is required you are likely to be unlucky."

"I think this should not prove beyond your strength." He leaned towards Frodo and spoke, very quietly, into one of the hobbit's slightly pointed ears.

"Are you sure?" asked Frodo. "The plaster has not stopped falling from when we did that in Bag End."

"I want it."

"Here and now?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Frodo's tone was that of a hobbit who clearly believed this to be a bad idea. "You are sure?"

"Very much so." He leaned up and their mouths met.

**

"Faramir, my dear husband." When Frodo used that phrase, Faramir paid attention. "A word, please." They moved away from the others; practising for the ceremony was taking all morning. Faramir believed the King had not rehearsed this much for his own coronation. "You have been looking like the cat shut in the dairy all morning," said Frodo. "Had you any idea last night who had the rooms next to ours?"

"I did not know for certain."

"It is not like you to prevaricate."

"But I had guessed that ours and the rooms either side were the best in the inn."

"And were you louder than you need have been?"

That at least Faramir could be completely honest about, "No. When you do that I..."

"I recall, I was there. Your father has spent all morning looking as if he has eaten dirt." Frodo looked him up and down, "There are hidden depths to you, my husband. See that they do not get out of hand." He walked away a few steps, then turned back, "I'm not saying that I didn't enjoy it, mind."

**

Of course, that was not the end of the matter. Queen Arwen had little enough to do but sit and be beautiful, something she did consummately well with little need to practise; Faramir found himself next to her as they waited while Frodo and King Aragorn went through the moves they must make. "I have never stayed at an Inn before," she confided, "but I am finding it most illuminating."

"My Queen?"

She smiled, "The most extraordinary things one hears. I had a most entertaining time getting Aragorn to explain them to me." Her look grew almost impish, "And a much better time once I persuaded him to demonstrate." Faramir could think of nothing to say in reply to that, and dared not smile. Arwen's face looked deceptively guileless and Faramir stiffened; he'd been caught out by that look before. She said, "I have to give serious consideration to what gift I should find for your husband. What do you think he might appreciate?"

The trouble with having one's leg gently pulled by a Queen was that hysteria would be looked upon askance. The effort at keeping his face straight nearly killing him, Faramir said, "I am sure whatever my Queen decides on will be entirely appropriate."

"Ah," she slid her eyes at him, "in that case I shall present the whip to Frodo privately."

**

"I am to blame; I was too accommodating." Denethor took a turn around his private room. "When you were a boy, I made too many allowances for your weakness. Now what has become of you? A harlot! A whore for the depraved desires of a halfling!"

Since this was precisely what Faramir had expected Denethor to think, though not to say to his face, he remained silent.

"What? No protestations of innocence?"

"No, father," said Faramir.

"You have nothing to say for yourself at all?"

"No, father."

Denethor sat down, "What did he do it for? To rub my face in it?"

That could not be allowed to pass. "He... I asked him to take me knowing that you would hear. He had no idea you were in the next room."

"And if he had known?"

"He would have refused."

Denethor's eyes searched his face, and Faramir fought not to look down. "Why did you do this?" he asked.

"I wanted you to know, to understand, that my marriage to Frodo is not just land and paper."

"You humiliated me."

"No, father. I lay with my husband full willing. I do not feel that humiliates either me or him."

"You disgust me."

Faramir swallowed. "At last you are honest with me, father. May I go now?"

**

And finally, Boromir, his expression somehow nervous.

As he did not seem inclined to speak, Faramir said, "I have not seen you all day."

"I went for a walk."

"Queen Arwen was concerned you would miss the rehearsals."

"Why did you...?"

Faramir sighed, "I have just had all this out with father."

"Am I worth less?"

"No! Never that. Frodo is a hobbit worthy of love and respect, and I do love and respect him. Hobbits have strong appetites for food and drink," Faramir paused, "and also for other pleasures. In that regard I sometimes fall short."

"But not last night."

"As you say." Faramir smiled to himself. "And I wished to annoy father. Which I did."

"I never thought I would say this, my brother, but Frodo should take a whip to your hide."

"I believe you are the second person to suggest that to me today."

**

The ceremony itself was long and rather dull. Even Faramir thought so, and he was accustomed to long dull ceremonies. It was of course impossible to suggest that Queen Arwen had slept through it but Faramir very much envied her the elvish capacity to rest with their eyes open.

There was not enough room at the Prancing Pony, or the other inns in Bree, to accommodate all those who wished to celebrate their new princes. That didn't stop the celebration, indeed as the cavalcade made its way through the streets to the Town Hall, Faramir caught sight of several men and hobbits with ale mugs in their hands and visibly the worse for drink. He sincerely hoped they stayed on the cheerful side of drunk but had no such expectation: he had lived at Court, and lately in a village, and well knew the squabbles, grudges, unexpected alliances and bitter feuds which governed such places. Bree was like to be no different from Hobbiton or the Court at Minas Tirith, and they would be lucky to reach morning without a few broken heads. He hoped none of it would end up as Frodo's problem.

The feast was better than the one that had welcomed them; Faramir ate sparingly as he always did, a source of surprise to most hobbits, though Frodo no longer remarked on it. Peregrin, seated in a place of honour, was suggesting foods that Denethor might like to try, "There is this green salad, though Faramir is forbidden it."

"And is my son always so obedient?" asked Denethor.

Faramir had winced at Peregrin's choice of words and did so again. It was one of those questions which Denethor delighted in and to which both 'no' and 'yes' were the wrong answer.

Peregrin glanced at Faramir, who tried very hard to look as if he were not listening. He said, "I have never known Faramir cross Frodo's will, though that is not the reason he does not eat this."

"What is?"

"It contains the herb sandrinard. It makes Faramir ill; not enough to die, though it might look as if he has, but very sick and dizzy."

"Does it affect all Men this way?" Denethor looked up the table to Aragorn, who was helping himself to a large portion.

"No," said Peregrin. "Nor all hobbits. I've a cousin, Dahlia Took, who's the same way with it. But I love it, and so does Frodo. Though it doesn't look as if he's going to get very much." This as Aragorn put the bowl down, mostly empty.

"Nevertheless, I will take none of it. What is this white fruit?"

"Vegetable, Lord Denethor. Potato."

Faramir turned back to Frodo, who said, "You see, your father is not all bad." He sounded almost as if he were apologising for it.

"No," said Faramir. Peregrin had one skill that he lacked and probably always would: that of being able to charm his father.

Suddenly, Faramir was tired and cold. He wanted to be alone with Frodo in their home at Bag End, and probably never would be again. He felt Frodo's hand take his and squeeze slightly, then let go. He looked up, somewhat comforted by the gesture to see his father's eyes upon them. He sighed; it was proving to be a long evening.

**

"You should go," said Frodo. "A day's hunting will cheer you."

"You won't come with us?"

Frodo laughed, "Have you ever known me to choose to hunt? No, you go with Boromir."

He had honestly expected to be far more unpractised than his brother, but then not all the meat at Bag End came from the butcher in Michel Delving.

"You were always a better shot than I," admitted Boromir, watching a coney make its escape. Faramir proved it by hitting his next target, and Boromir frowned at him looking disturbingly like their father. Faramir tried not to laugh, but felt his mouth twitch in any case. "It's not even as if you can eat a crow," said Boromir.

Faramir took aim again, "Butterbur tells me there are a great many crows in the woods around here. Too many, he says."

"He's a good man, that innkeeper. And a good friend to you."

"For Frodo's sake..."

Boromir turned to face him, "No, little brother. Not just for that. It was something of a surprise to our father, expecting to find you reviled and despised, to discover you a general favourite among the people here. But it was no surprise to me." Faramir was moved; he did not have the words to answer that, and therefore said nothing. Boromir changed the subject, "Did Frodo like the gift I left for him?"

"He..." Words defeated Faramir once again, but Boromir waited until he said, "I'm sure he's very grateful."

Boromir's laugh set the birds in the nearby trees to flight. "As I haven't heard you protesting, I suppose he hasn't used it."

"He imagines it has been given him to use when atop his pony."

"I shall have to tell him the truth of it, then!"

"Boromir! Do not, please."

"Are hobbits such prudes? I never found that."

"Among themselves they are earthy, I agree. But they do not expect it of Men." He paused, "It would amuse you to know that I am treated most of the time as a maiden, innocent and pure."

"You were pure. Before your handfasting to Frodo, at least. Don't look at me like that, you had read the scrolls the archivist kept hidden, that I know, but you had never...you need not have been so inexperienced, any of the servants of the White Tower would have shared your bed had you but asked."

"I know that. I chose not to."

"But why?"

"It seemed unfair," Faramir chose his words carefully, "to use them in that way. As if it were part of their duty."

From Boromir's expression he clearly thought it was exactly that, and Faramir tried to explain. "One morning, I saw a serving woman come out of father's room..."

"You would not surely expect our father to abstain entirely after our mother's death?"

"No. But it was how she looked."

"He had not hurt her?"

"No! Our father is not a brute. No...she looked as if she had performed some mildly unpleasant task, like emptying his chamber pot." Faramir stared out over the sunlit land. "I did not want any servant, or anyone, to stand outside my door like that."

"They would not have. Many looked at you with longing."

"Even the experience you had would have stood me in no stead given who I handfasted to."

"Frodo taught you?"

"Everything about pleasing a hobbit, yes. Who else?"

They walked on a little further through the bright morning, seeing nothing worth a shot.

"And you, my brother?" Faramir said. "How do you do in such matters?" For he had a feeling Boromir had not brought him out or raised this by chance.

"I am not worthy of her," said Boromir

"In what way?"

"In all ways. She is beautiful and brave beyond reckoning."

"I agree," said Faramir, as gently as he could, for his brother seemed to have fallen silent again.

"And I am not." Boromir walked on for a few more steps, then threw himself down to sit on a fallen log.

Boromir in this mood was entirely new. Himself, yes, he was only too aware that he fell short of the ideal in many ways, great and small, but that his brother should also believe that of himself was beyond Faramir's experience or comprehension. "I have ever heard it said that you are the best of men," said Faramir.

"They lie. Well, father does, for no doubt it is he who has told you so."

"In what way?"

Boromir looked up from the mossy floor of the forest. "I cannot believe Frodo has not mentioned this. He at least can have no great love for me."

"He has never said anything about you in my hearing that I recall. Oh. Except once in Minas Tirith before we were handfasted, I said that all loved you and he said 'not all'. Perhaps not those exact words, but something with that meaning."

"Dearest of brothers, has anyone ever mentioned that, though you do not talk often, when you do, if one were to write down what you say there would not be paper in the world?"

"Indeed so. Rose, the wife of Samwise, tells me that with me you get nothing at all or every thought that passes through my head."

"Then let it be nothing, at least until I tell you what I must. And then you will not wish to speak with me again."

Faramir sat down beside his brother, "I doubt that."

"Then for pity's sake, let me speak!"

Consumed with dread and curiosity, Faramir waited in silence; he saw Boromir's mouth work and wondered if he were about to weep. It would be unlike Boromir, but the day was becoming altogether strange.

"Have you ever noticed," said Boromir, "that there is a part missing from the tale of the Ring?"

"Truly, no."

"There is." Boromir paused again, as if collecting his thoughts. "Aragorn led us through the Golden Wood and we followed the River Anduin to the falls about Rauros.

"There we discussed what we should do, to go to Mordor or to Minas Tirith. Frodo asked for time alone to consider and left the group still debating. I followed him to the seat of Amon Hen above Sarn Gebir, and there spoke with him, trying to persuade him to bring the Ring back to Minas Tirith, to our father. He struck me, and called me a fool, told me that none could wield the ring save Sauron and that it would eat out my heart were I to try. Your husband may lack inches but he does not lack courage."

"I know," said Faramir.

"He put on the Ring and disappeared. I do not know where he went but I suppose he ran off down the hill. I tried to follow where I believed he had gone but saw an orc party.

"By this time at least an hour had passed since Frodo left the group and they had decided to search for him. The orcs found Merry and Pippin. I killed some, from behind, but when they came back searching for me," Boromir took a deep breath, "I fled.

"I learned later that Aragorn and the others believed me slain, and none of them, on his honour, has ever asked me what happened. Frodo has never mentioned it or asked for an explanation. I returned to Minas Tirith to face our father's wrath for not having brought him Isildur's Bane, and to learn that you were fighting in Ithilien."

"Have you told Denethor?"

Boromir nodded, once. "He ordered me to say nothing of it. Until now, I have obeyed."

Faramir was silent for a moment and the birds sang on around them. Then he said, "This is why father insisted to the King that you should be Prince of Ithilien and wed Éowyn."

"Yes. He arranged my handfasting - indeed gave little choice to either of us. But now he is angry that she has had a boy and seems like to bear another but his Lady Prestoliel has borne only a girl and a sickly one at that."

"I see."

"Not all, perhaps. Through this knowledge, he has influence over me that he does not have over you. And I am thus dishonoured twice over, once because I fled and once because he uses my dishonour to ensure my support for his schemes. The knowledge of what I have done unmans me. I am unworthy of Éowyn and the title I hold - she calls me spineless and she is correct."

Faramir had no reply to this for it was nothing more than the truth. The enormity of the burden Boromir carried was almost more than he could comprehend. "Éowyn does not know, then?"

"No!" Boromir's shudder was visible.

"Then you must tell her and trust to her heart."

"I cannot."

Faramir sighed. Boromir the stone wall he remembered of old. "You must. If I have learned nothing from my handfasting it is that you must trust. A secret like that will destroy you both."

"Do you have no secrets from Frodo at all?"

"Nothing serious." Faramir thought of them: that he was a closer friend to Rose than to Samwise; the time he made himself sick attempting to smoke pipe weed; that he sometimes put his hand on himself rather than ask Frodo to share his bed. He said, "Small things, that we might argue over if he were to discover them, but nothing which could do him real harm."

"You have given him your heart."

"I did not hope for it or expect it, but yes. I have." A sudden thought struck him and Faramir swallowed, "You know that I must tell him what you have said. This is too big a matter for me to keep secret."

Boromir searched his face for a moment then said, "Very well." Then, "What will he tell you to do?"

Frodo was unsurprised by Faramir's news; "I guessed something like that had probably happened. I would imagine that Aragorn has, too. What concerns me is what may happen when and if Aragorn finally secures his position in Minas Tirith. On that day, my husband, we are not providing a permanent bolt-hole for your father."

 

Part VI

Go directly -- find out what she's doing and tell her she mustn't.  
Punch, vol lxiii p.202 1862

During the celebrations, Faramir had been peripherally aware of new buildings going up around Bree. He had given this little thought, his awareness only of a mild pleasure that business in Bree was thriving. As the crowds left, these signs became more obvious until one morning Frodo received an invitation from Bree's mayor, a hobbit called Gil Sandytoes.

It appeared that some time in the past - Sandytoes was not very specific about when - Aragorn had instructed the folk of Bree to prepare them a gift, "His instructions were rather vague," said Sandytoes, "but we've done our best. What do you think?"

On the journey north, just a few years before, Faramir had seen the ruins of the watchtower of Amon Sûl. He had specifically asked to be taken there, remembering not only Frodo's journey, but also that Elendil had there awaited Gil-Galad. The structure Sandytoes showed them reminded him, in part of the ruin in that it was a keep atop a hill.

"The hill was already there," said Sandytoes.

"Oh," said Frodo.

"That was... helpful," said Faramir, seeing they were going to get nothing more from Frodo.

Faramir thought he could guess Frodo's difficulty: hobbits were not greatly enamoured of stone buildings. Once inside, however, they found that it was more home-like than either had expected. The builders had chosen to interpret Aragorn's instruction for a castle rather freely, and there was more of the hobbit-hole than the palace about it. It was also, not surprisingly after so short a time, still unfinished.

Frodo returned to the inn looking, to one who knew him well, rather downcast. "I suppose," he said, "it would hurt their feelings if we disappeared in the night and went back to Bag End?"

Faramir held back his laugh, "I'm afraid it would."

"Furniture will improve it though."

"We can but hope."

They exchanged a glance of resignation, then Frodo said, "Bed, Prince Faramir, I have plans for you that I hope may cheer us both."

**

At least Butterbur was sorry to see them move into their new home - almost as sorry as Meriadoc was that their furniture needed to moved again. Frodo gave Bag End to Rose and Sam, and Rose's ecstatic delight almost made it worthwhile.

Still, as they had predicted, with furniture in the newly-finished living quarters the new castle looked somewhat improved. It would not be perfect, Faramir thought, not even as perfect as it was capable of being, until they stopped tripping over builders on the way to the privy.

"I never thought of anything like this," said Frodo.

"No," agreed Faramir, absently. He was looking out of the window, a hobbit was attempting to pick up a plank larger than he was and being berated for it by a serving maid.

"I hate having servants," Frodo went on. "I hated it when we were in Minas Tirith and it hasn't improved."

Faramir turned away from the unfolding scene below, "I'm afraid we cannot avoid it. I have employed as few as I thought could manage the work."

"That was a surprise. How did you know what to do?"

Faramir came over to sit beside him on the most comfortable seat in the room. "There is no riddle there."

"Tell me, then, O wise one."

"It is true that my father ruled and that the origin of the Steward was as a counsellor to the King, but my father and his fathers before him took the title of steward seriously. A steward manages a household, and father insisted that as well as learning our letters and how to wield sword and bow we learned the work of the servants from the lowest kitchen page to his own household steward. Not in great detail, but sufficient."

"I thought that when you came to Bag End you showed a remarkable ability at scrubbing floors."

"They were indeed not my first," Faramir smiled, "or the first time I had turned a spit or stirred a soup. Though I am no cook and Mistress Anareth of the kitchen was ever angry with me." He fell silent.

Frodo said, "There is nothing you can do for Boromir."

"How did you know?"

"Talking of Minas Tirith always brings him to your mind. I should have known better than to allow you to raise it."

Faramir laughed, "A pretty pair we should make, never able to discuss my homeland, my family or your past experiences. We should have to confine ourselves to the weather and the scenery."

"We should perhaps try it out for a day."

"Then our new servants would think us both addled. Not that they don't already. Come, Frodo, time for the evening meal which they will have burned or failed to cook sufficiently. Do you think we can persuade Butterbur to part with his cook?"

"Now you are addled," said Frodo.

"Do you think Samwise and Rose would come to live with us?" Faramir thought of Rose's cooking with something akin to homesickness.

"I suppose they would if we asked. But could we deny Sam the chance of being Mayor of Hobbiton?"

"And, more importantly, Rose of being his lady? No, we could not. And unless we can stand to dismiss our current servants and employ more, or train these to our needs, and I doubt we can, we must learn to endure being uncomfortable and having nasty things to eat."

"Let's hope they improve before anyone important arrives. I can just imagine Lord Elrond's face if they presented him with what they gave us last night."

**

"The 'King of Angmar' announces that he intends to visit," said Frodo. He held out a letter for Faramir to take. "I would imagine that this is the result of your recent battle on the edge of the Ettenmoors."

"It was not a battle. A minor clash of arms, merely." Faramir winced as he reached to take it.

"Which could have cost you your hand, so forgive me if I disagree."

"Our people must be protected; that village had asked for our help."

"I know that, and the men you trained acquitted themselves extremely well, considering that a year ago Bree didn't have a soldier within a days' ride. I hope only that we will not have to fight such battles often. Which returns us to the 'King of Angmar'."

Faramir reached for the letter. "His scribe is hardly worthy of the title. Still, I would imagine that he was lucky to find anyone who could write in Angmar, even more that they could write in the common tongue."

Silence for a moment, then Frodo said, "I do not remember being told there were men in Angmar. I wish Gandalf were here to advise us."

**

As it turned out, there were men in Angmar. Of a kind. The deputation which rode up was made up of Men who looked more than half orc, and orcs who had some blood of Men. But as they had sent ahead to parley and harmed none on their journey, Frodo had no reason to refuse to see them.

Uncomfortable days followed; the 'King of Angmar' claimed several villages and a small town to the south of the Ettens. Frodo, armed with the papers he had from King Aragorn, papers relating to the lengthy transactions of Faramir's dowry, rejected this claim.

While they debated, the King and his followers had to be accommodated either in the Palace, which both Faramir and Frodo disliked, or in Bree itself, which the townspeople, Big and Little, heartily disliked. Still, it was an unusual orc who even attempted diplomacy over force of arms.

King Uglûk had learned good manners, though where and when Faramir did not ask, but those of his men slipped too often to be comfortable. Insults to themselves they could tolerate, abuse of their servants was another matter entirely so when the discourtesy reached the levels of their guests spitting on the floor and pinching the maids, Frodo insisted that the orcs eat separately and be waited on by their own servants. "And we shall have to scrub the rooms out with vinegar after they've gone," he told Faramir, when they were alone.

Faramir did not like it, but there was nothing they could do short of murdering them all and that, even if it were honourable which of course it was not, would likely set the whole of the northern part of Arnor alight and embroil them in war for years to come.

"I think," said Faramir, when they were at last alone together on the fifth day of the torturous visit, "he intends to wear us down into making concessions by pushing us to the limit of endurance."

Frodo yawned, "You're probably right. Stay with me?"

"Very well, if you wish it." Faramir removed his smallclothes and slid into bed, feeling Frodo's warmth. "Is it just my company you want," he asked. He slid his hand across Frodo's side. "Or perhaps..."

"Have I told you recently," Frodo turned onto his back, "that you are the best of husbands?"

"No, for I am not. However, I believe I have my compensations." He moved to kiss Frodo.

"Indeed you do, Prince Faramir. Indeed you do."

**

As usual when they were intimately joined Faramir lay on his back, body supported by a bolster - it was a cause of some puzzlement to their servants why they needed so many, but neither of them were about to confess the reason.

Frodo withdrew from him, slowly, mindful that he was sometimes sensitive, and ran a hand up the outside of Faramir's thigh. "You are..." was as far as he got.

The door to Frodo's bedroom opened suddenly. Faramir caught no more than a glimpse of an orc - his knife flashed in the candlelight. Faramir rolled over and pushed Frodo from the bed. Hoping Frodo was unhurt, Faramir reached for the sword he'd set aside earlier. He took a swing at the orc, but missed. Faramire cursed his reflexes, or lack of them, and made a second lunge avoiding the orc blade by a fraction of an inch.

This time Faramir was successful. He spared a glance for Frodo, who looked furious rather than frightened. "Stay there!" said Faramir.

The orc, desperate by now, came at Faramir again. Faramir recognised him, without surprise, as one of the entourage of the King of Angmar. "Hold!" he said.

The orc laughed, "Die, my pretty prince, and your master with you!" He slashed at Faramir's face, unsuccessfully. Faramir did not bother to reply, he had no time for it. They turned and Faramir realised a moment too late that this brought the orc closer to Frodo. Suddenly, the orc screamed. Had the orc been able to, he'd have got another slash in against Faramir, but his attention was elsewhere: Frodo was under the bed, attacking with something Faramir did not have time to look at closely. The orc's distraction was his undoing; Faramir saw his chance and took it. In seconds the orc's black blood stained the rug by Frodo's bed. He stopped moving.

At that moment - too late - the guard arrived. Frodo came out from under the bed as naked as Faramir, holding a pearl-handled whip and looked at the guard as if they were weevils he'd found in the flour. "I think," he said, "that my husband and I will pass the rest of the night in his room. Remove this," he toed the body of the orc, "and see to it that we are not further disturbed. Come, Faramir."

"As you command, my Prince," said Faramir and bowed.

**

No such event could be without its repercussions, and next day they had to face the King of Angmar over the negotiating table.

"I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for the..." a pause while the King searched his mind for the right word, "inconvenience you suffered last night. Had the matter not been already well taken care of by Prince Faramir, the guilty one would have met his death at my hand."

Frodo's smile was somewhat tight, "Thank you for your assurance, King Uglûk. The inconvenience was slight. Yet let anyone who attempts such a thing be warned that I am not as ill-defended as I appear, and certainly not when my dear husband is beside me."

I hope that is blunt enough, thought Faramir, though he doubted it would be. Someone's need to have Frodo dead must be great indeed to attack him in his own stronghold. Yet, the apology had seemed perfectly genuine, insofar as Faramir could tell. And the King could not be quite certain that the outcome of Frodo's death would be war in the north - Aragorn and the large and well-trained armies of Gondor and Rohan were leagues to the south. Here in the north were only the Dúnedain, the northern Rangers, and such men as Faramir himself had trained.

Faramir cursed himself for a fool. There was no way they could permit these spies to return north, and yet by coming under a flag of truce they had virtually guaranteed their safe return. No wonder Uglûk had appeared genuinely angry. He was. He could not afford to give them an excuse to retaliate, not if he wanted his mission to succeed. Frodo would have to write urgently to Aragorn Elessar, but knew they could expect no help. He wondered just how big Uglûk's army was. Faramir's respect increased; this was no normal Uruk.

**

"Prince Faramir, sir, visitors..." their steward, Tod Cheesman, had a face like a beaten mastiff, and he looked even more worried than usual.

"What have they done now?"

"Not those visitors, sir. We've been keeping an eye on 'em, as you asked, and other than drinking a lot of Frodo...Prince Frodo's ale and smashing a few goblets they've been right as rain. All of 'em still here, sir. I've been counting 'em just like you told me. No, sir, these are new visitors, the Lady Prestoliel and her escort from...some place in the south I have forgotten."

"Minas Tirith," supplied Faramir. "You'd better send her to me. Have word sent to Frodo and prepare rooms for them."

"Where?"

"You're the steward, just do your best."

**

"Faramir! My dear...stepson?"

Faramir had met Prestoliel very briefly in Minas Tirith; he had to admit that he had forgotten quite how pretty she was. Beauty enough to please even his father. "Stepmother?" he tried.

She laughed, a tinkle like silver bells. "It feels wrong when you are the elder, does it not? Use my plain name and I will use yours."

"As you wish," he bowed. "I regret my husband is not here to greet you, he is dealing with the emissaries from the northlands."

"No matter," she dismissed Frodo and the emissaries with a wave of her pale hand and sat. "No doubt you are wondering why I am here."

Faramir suppressed the temptation to point out that the thousand or so miles which lay between Minas Tirith and Bree made it unlikely that she had come to borrow a jar of honey. He contented himself with an enquiring look.

"I wanted again to meet my dear stepson!" the laugh tinkled out again.

"And?" said Faramir, as it appeared that she'd stopped.

"Nothing else."

"Does my father know you are here?" After he had said it, Faramir realised that he had possibly been a trifle too blunt. Living among free-spoken hobbits and the equally free-spoken folk of Bree was clearly affecting him more than he had imagined.

"Of course!"

Faramir was quite certain that this was untrue, but was saved from thinking of a further reply by Frodo's arrival.

**

"The new lady visitor, sir," said Cheesman.

"What about her?" Faramir sighed.

Cheesman grinned, obviously in some reminiscence. "She doesn't like her room."

"Tell her it's the best we can do."

"I did that. I don't think she believed me. In fact, I know she didn't."

"Faramir!" Lady Prestoliel obviously hadn't waited for the steward to return. "I cannot remain in such accommodations."

"Which rooms do you have?" Faramir concentrated on keeping the impatience he felt out of his voice.

"Poky little ones at the back, with funny little round windows and doors."

"The little folk rooms," put in Cheesman. "The ones we keep for when the Mayor and his lady come from Hobbiton. They're the best we have other than what that King of Angmar's staying in."

"You see!" said Prestoliel. "You do have better rooms. I'm sure this King of... King will give them up when I ask him."

"Don't think so," said Cheesman, "see, lady..."

"And Faramir, your servants are insupportably rude!"

"My apologies," said Faramir, at last getting a word in edgeways. "Cheesman, please try to remember what I told you."

"Sir," Cheesman bowed, somewhat chastened.

"Now, Prestoliel. I cannot ask the King of Angmar to give up the rooms he is occupying and you wouldn't want them if he did agree. Please accept that the rooms you have are the best we can offer at present." When the door closed and he was finally alone, Faramir sank into a chair and groaned. After all that he still had to face dinner with the King of Angmar and Prestoliel, eating without obvious disgust whatever their cooks had managed to produce. He also ought to write to his father. Truly, he thought, this cup is too full for me to drink.

**

Lady Prestoliel said, "The north is not at all as I had imagined."

Faramir asked, "How so?" He was doing his best with her and hoped somebody appreciated it.

"I...had expected a city. Something like Minas Tirith."

"Did my father give you that impression?" he couldn't imagine from where else she could have gained any idea of the north.

"No. He never talks to me of important things, only of Aragorn. It's all Aragorn this, Aragorn that. Tales of his arrogance and pride."

"Aragorn? King Elessar?" Faramir was honestly puzzled. His acquaintance with the King was comparatively slight, but he had seemed the least prideful of men.

"Then, of course, there's Queen Arwen, the jewels she wears and the cost of her dresses."

"My father talks about the cost of dresses?" This was becoming more astounding by the minute.

"Of course not. But she's full of herself. If she got any fuller, she'd burst."

This didn't sound at all like the Arwen that Faramir knew. He kept quiet.

"But you're not at all like your father said, and now I've become used to your lovely little castle. And we're such friends already."

"Are we?" said Faramir.

**

"Why did my father handfast to that woman?" Faramir sat on the edge of Frodo's bed, profoundly weary.

"To make sons," said Frodo, and he yawned. "Are you getting in or not?"

"Yes." He moved the covers aside and lay down. "Please, I just want to talk to someone sane."

Frodo leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "I think, tomorrow, you will negotiate with the King and I will deal with the lady."

**

"Faramir! Your... Frodo is the most odious creature I ever met! I wonder that you tolerate him."

"Oh. Is he?" Faramir thought he probably looked taken aback at this. He felt it.

"He says I should return to Gondor."

Frodo must have had taken the opportunity to say something. Faramir said, "If you left now and took the journey in easy stages you would be through the Gap of Rohan before the first snows fall on the high peaks."

"But Faramir! I thought that you..." she stopped.

"That I?" he was honestly puzzled.

"That you wanted me to stay! That you loved me."

How to put this gently? There was no kind way of saying it, other than to say it. "Lady. I do not know what I can have said or done if I gave you that impression. I assure you I did not intend it."

"You cannot want to be near that creature."

"What creature?"

"That...Frodo."

Faramir could hear his voice turning cold, "Frodo is not a 'creature', he is a person. My husband."

"You remain here out of duty," she came to him and reached for him. "Your father told me so."

Faramir backed away hurriedly. "That is false and my father knows it to be false."

"No!" Prestoliel reached for him again.

By now Faramir was almost in the fire and had nowhere further to which to retreat. "It is false," he said. "My love is given to my husband and none other. You must understand that. Please." She tried to kiss him and he held her firmly by the wrists. "Please don't do this. Whatever feeling you have for me, I cannot return it. My heart is given to another."

She broke into a storm of weeping and he released her. If she said anything he could not make it out.

He sighed, "You would do much better to return to my father."

"And beg his forgiveness? I would rather die!"

"Then return to your own people. I am sure they would aid you." Faramir felt helpless; weeping women were not something of which he had much experience. He would far rather face twenty raging orcs armed with scimitars.

"I am sure they would not!" she said. "Oh, you are useless, like all men!" She broke into another storm of weeping, and left the room. The door slammed behind her and Faramir stared at it. He was rather glad of the quiet.

**

"My husband, I need to speak with you," said Frodo. Faramir looked up from the papers he was studying. "At once."

Faramir followed him into their private parlour and closed the door.

"The Lady Prestoliel..." began Frodo and Faramir just managed to stop himself from groaning out loud. Frodo continued, "She has made an accusation against you."

"Go on."

"She says that you attempted to force yourself on her. Did you?"

"No."

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to know."

"You believe me?"

Frodo looked up at him. "Yes."

"What will you tell her?"

"That I have investigated the matter and I do not believe her."

"Oh. I doubt she will be satisfied with that."

It was Frodo's turn to sigh. "Then she can return to your father."

"She will not do that. I have already suggested it. Nor will she return to her own people in Dol Amroth, I've suggested that, also."

"And she came here from Boromir. " Frodo must have seen the surprised expression on Faramir's face, "Yes, she came from Ithilien, not from Minas Tirith. Come, let us sit." Frodo chose the settle by the fire, and Faramir sat beside him. Frodo said, "I received a letter from Éowyn. For some reason the messenger delivered it first to Merry - it only arrived this morning."

"And?"

"It seems that the balance of the lady's mind is somewhat disturbed."

"We could have told them that; did Éowyn say why?"

"Have you noticed that Prestoliel has never mentioned her child? Not once in all the time she's been here?"

"Actually...yes. I assumed the silence was because the child died. It's not uncommon, even among the nobility of Gondor and I didn't want to raise the matter until she did."

"I would think that knowing that and having it happen to you are two different things. I cannot help but feel relief that it can never happen to us," said Frodo. "According to Éowyn, Prestoliel became somewhat strange after the death of the child; she and your father had an argument - which says something about how much backbone she has since I would not care to argue with your father. Without his leave, she called her ladies to her and travelled to Dol Amroth. From there, and Éowyn does not mention why or what her family said, she came to Ithilien. Éowyn tried to do her best for her, but was rebuffed. Her attempts at help angered Prestoliel so much she claimed she was being persecuted. She left, and came here."

"I do not believe we can help her. Besides which, we have problems of our own."

"That's the other matter I wanted to discuss with you. King Uglûk leaves at the end of the week. I think we'll follow him north and do some spying for ourselves. We will have to leave the lady to herself for a few weeks and hope she comes to her senses."

Faramir sighed, "How I long for the simple life in kindly Minas Tirith. A little court intrigue would be as bucolic monotony."

 

Part VII

It appears the Americans have taken umbrage.  
They deuce they have! Whereabouts is that?  
Punch, vol lxiii. p.189. 1872

 

The moment they left Bree it started to rain. And it rained. And it rained. And it rained some more, just for variation.

"I thought it was meant to be May," growled Frodo, as his pony tripped and stumbled.

"It is," replied Faramir. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked round. Behind he could see the rise of the Weather Hills, but ahead all was flat and slightly gloomy. "Gimli told me, more than once, about their chase across Rohan following an orc trail. In this weather, any other trail would have disappeared."

"I hope they are all feeling as cold and out of sorts as we are."

Faramir suppressed a laugh, "I would imagine not, if I know orcs."

"And these achieved their aim." Frodo sighed, "They left us a mess, too. I do hope Sam and Rosie clear up the castle before we return."

**

The land was strange; it was largely uninhabited and there was no real road, but here and there they found small villages, the people clinging to life by the skin of their teeth. Usually, these tiny places didn't even have an inn.

During his previous journey across the Ettenmoors, Faramir had steered his troops clear of these villages; this time it seemed politic to introduce themselves, and thus create distance between them and the grim orcs whose passage the people watched so warily. Their own company, Dúnedain for the most part, were greeted only slightly less distrustfully.

Faramir felt for these people; they were simple folk and such people always had the most to lose when there was a falling out of princes, battle could despoil their crops and leave them hungry for the winter. He knew Frodo would do his best for them, but Arnor was still poor compared with the south, and even they were recovering only slowly from the wars which had ravaged their lands.

"How goes it, Alagosín?" Faramir decided that to worry his mind with these matters was profitless. It may yet come to nothing.

"Well enough, Faramir. There's nowhere for us to stay unless you're prepared to brave the lice in the headman's hut, so we've set up camp in the field to the side."

Faramir did not expect the Rangers to call him by any title, and they did not. That they accepted him as an equal was sufficient honour, for some of these men had taught Aragorn Elessar. "And Frodo?" he asked.

"He's cold," said Alagosín, "Does cold always affect hobbits so? I thought for a moment that he'd bite me." Faramir smiled, considered answering, and decided that the hand of discretion should stay over his mouth.

"You need not have come," said Faramir to Frodo, when he arrived in their small tent.

"And stay behind with your father's mad wife? I'd rather freeze to death out here. And ride a pony."

"So would I," Faramir sat on his unrolled bedding and contemplated the roof of the tent, already damp.

"How far ahead are the orcs?"

"From the tracks, I'd say about a day but Alagosín thinks they're not quite that far. He's more likely to be right than I, he knows these northlands better. We need to make better speed, but in these lands I don't care to travel at night. Luckily the orcs agree."

"But we have the advantage of horses."

Faramir looked up, then remembered just how far Frodo had travelled. "Orcs do travel at speed, but we are catching them up. We should overtake them tomorrow, I would estimate at sundown - if the sun ever shines in this place."

***

Few things ever go quite as planned; they must have pulled ahead of the orcs party some time during the day, but what had held them up Faramir had no idea. They had left the trail early, not wanting to run into the back of them unexpectedly. At sundown they found themselves on a rise of land, too low to be called a hill, but with no sign of the orcs.

Alagosín and Faramir stood apart from Frodo and the others, looking out over the land behind them. "No fire," said Faramir. "They'd see it for miles."

"Cold night," said Alagosín, but not as if he disagreed.

"Yes. If we're really lucky, they'll have a fire."

"They might if they think themselves safe."

Faramir came off watch to find Frodo still awake. "Cold?" he said.

"Yes. See anything?" Frodo came over to Faramir's bedroll and slipped in.

"Nothing. Oh, perfect. You don't feel cold, more like having a hot brick in the bed," Faramir lay on his side and curled round Frodo.

"Let's hope nobody attacks. Our men are already full of tales about us." Frodo moved closer. "You don't mind?"

Faramir shrugged, he wasn't sure he cared any longer what was said about him. "What do they say?"

Frodo sounded amused, "That you are wonderfully obedient and that it is because I often beat you."

Faramir opened his eyes, "Is there no end to people's foolishness?"

"None, apparently."

**

As far as Faramir could tell, nobody had slept well. If anything he and Frodo had done so rather better than some of the others because they had been warmer. He sometimes had his suspicions of Alagosín and another ranger, Faerlach, but kept them to himself; in Faramir's experience expressing curiosity about someone else's private arrangements invited questions upon one's own, and people were curious enough about him and Frodo.

Quite what Frodo told the hobbits other than Samwise, whom Faramir accepted as a special case, Faramir had no idea. He suspected that he was a closemouthed as Faramir was himself.

He tried to keep his groan to himself as he sat on the damp ground chewing bread that was even more stale than his allowance yesterday. He was turning soft; the feather beds of the castle, even one such as Chetwood, were too much the norm rather than the luxury they had been during his time in Ithilien.

"What's wrong with you this morning," said Frodo.

"Feeling my age," admitted Faramir.

"You're what, forty five?"

"Forty two!" said Faramir, stung.

"I'm fifty six," said Frodo, perfectly calm. Faramir turned and stared, "But you look...to my eyes anyway, about twenty-five. The same age or somewhat younger than Samwise."

"Sam is of like age to you. The eyes of Men are deceived, it seems."

"Not that much."

Frodo turned back to his breakfast, such as it was. "It was one of the effects of the Ring. To preserve the appearance of youth and to prolong life, but not to give more."

"You feel it still."

"Yes."

Faramir leaned across the tent and touched Frodo's arm. "I..." he started, then was not sure how to continue. "If it were possible, I would take all of it to myself rather than have you suffer."

Frodo turned to him, "I know." He reached up as he often did, and touched Faramir's face. "I am the luckiest hobbit alive."

"I hardly think that."

"Nevertheless it is true. I do not know what would have become of me without you."

"Samwise..." began Faramir, being realistic.

"No," Frodo stroked Faramir's face. "Even had Sam ever been mine, I would have had to give him back to Rosie and to the Shire. The life he has is the one he was born for. You are the gift unlooked for." He leaned forward and they kissed, softly. "I can only hope that the life I give you is as fulfilling as whatever I stole you from." He smiled, "Come, my husband. I suspect our escort is impatient for us to join them."

There was still no sign of the orcs. "I wonder," said Alagosín, "that they have given us the slip, somehow."

"We shall have to return along our trail until we find where they slipped off," said Faramir.

"Yes," said Alagosín. He was clearly annoyed with himself, "That's what comes of trying to be too clever."

***

Faramir felt as though they were not moving, as if the grey landscape he glimpsed through the rain was shifting slowly past as they remained caught like flies in dirty amber. How much longer could this go on? But the orc trail was again becoming newer, they were catching up, and this time there was no mistake. They slowed as they grew closer, keeping the orcs always a half day ahead.

At last, even through the driving rain, Faramir could see the rise of the mountains ahead, the northernmost border of Arnor, the mountains of Angmar with Carn Dûm at their northernmost tip, and closer than that the mountains which formed the backdrop to the Ettenmoors.

The orcs had turned northwest to skirt the Ettens and Faramir wondered why. He had heard that the Ettens contained trolls and sincerely hoped that to be mere rumour. Trolls in the southern lands had all come under the control of the Red Eye, there had been none wandering freely and the idea of the damage they could do uncontrolled froze the heart.

Still, if they were there that was a problem for another day, a day on which he would persuade Frodo to remain at Chetwood. No, he told himself; Frodo was no child, he was a prince and none could doubt his courage. If he wanted to travel, none should stop him. It was for Faramir to see that he came to no harm or King Elessar would have his throat, and deservedly so. Or perhaps Elessar would understand; after all, he had been unable to prevent Frodo from crossing the Anduin and travelling to Mordor with only Samwise.

That night they again camped without fires, with the orcs just within sight. With no fire and no tents it was a cold night. Frodo spoke to Alagosín, "The orcs which captured my Uncle Bilbo lived in the mountains. Do these?"

"It's possible," said Alagosín. "Mount Gundarbad, their ancient home, is the other side of the Ettens. And if they do go in under there we could have had a wasted journey. None I know of have gone inside Gundarbad and come out again alive."

Faramir looked for a long time at the light of the orc encampment.

**

Gundarbad looked as fearsome as its reputation, a great black hulk even among the other mountains that almost seemed to shrink back from it. The orcs ahead of them did not hesitate; they headed straight up a defile and could be seen slogging their way up a path from there. None of them looked back, or not that Faramir could tell.

Alagosín stopped in a stand of trees before they even reached the defile, "We can go no further," he said.

"We have come this far," said Frodo, and probably only Faramir could hear his irritation. "We must go on or risk an attack in force on the northlands of Eriador."

"They have never attacked before," Faerlach said.

"Not since the Battle of Dale, fought while we struggled to rid the world of the Ring. They discovered then that the dwarves are well defended, but we are not. Mordor is a ruin, of no use to anyone, and they need land because even orcs do not eat rock. We have land, thanks to Sauron's defeat; that means we are vulnerable."

"What do you suggest," said Alagosín.

"I watched the orcs climb. It seemed to me that they reached a particular place and then vanished. There must be an entrance."

"You have sharp eyes, Prince Frodo," allowed Alagosín. "Very well. We could climb ourselves, but the place is bound to be guarded."

"That is no matter," said Frodo. "I shall go up and get them to announce me." All stared at him, Faramir in horror. "They called upon me. I shall call upon them."

"You are insane!" said Alagosín. Faramir was thankful someone else had said it. "They will strike you down."

"Then we will know where we stand. But I think not; their so-called King understands the rules of civilised diplomacy."

"But will he follow them?"

Faramir found his voice, "Either way, you shall not go alone."

"I imagined not. I would also doubt there is anything I could say which would dissuade you?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, then."

**

The climb to the orc stronghold was not as difficult as Faramir had imagined it might be. On the other hand, perhaps that should not have come as a surprise; orcs were known to be lazy, their preference always to take the easy way where possible and where the way was difficult to make it easier.

Frodo did not seem inclined to talk; Faramir would have like to know if there was a plan, but Frodo's silence suggested not. He could see Frodo's point; any plan was premature. As they approached what they suspected to be the door, Frodo turned to Faramir, "We're like to be captured. It would be best if we attempted to not be separated." Faramir could only agree. He half thought that Frodo was inviting death, but the expression on his face was not that of one who despaired. In which case, Faramir could only wait and protect him as best he could. Frodo led the way into a low-ceilinged cave and Faramir bowed his head to avoid the roof and followed him; the door - if such it was - proved to be unguarded.

If there had been no path leading up, Faramir would have said that this was an entirely natural, shallow cave. There was no sign that it was the abode of orcs, goblins or any other fell thing. They stood and waited, feeling and probably Faramir thought looking, rather foolish.

It seemed to him that a dark area at the back of the cave was looking somewhat darker, and then a shape detached itself from the surrounding blackness and stepped forward, followed by other shapes. It appeared that Frodo could see better in the dark than he could, for he addressed the shape, "We are here to see your leader, the one who styles himself King Uglûk."

A hideous laugh, "Then you shall!"

Faramir stayed close to Frodo during the ensuing journey through the horrible close darkness. He hoped that Frodo's eyes were up to determining where they were and in which direction they travelled for he was utterly confused, southern ranger or no.

Then, ahead of them, Faramir could see a light. At first it was green, then a green/gold and then, without warning, they were half-led, half-pushed into a vast wide open space, the ceiling disappearing up into the mountain and rooms opening around them, a space larger by far than the great halls of Faramir's youth.

The stink Faramir had expected from an orc stronghold, that he had experienced the time he had visited Orthanc with Frodo following Saruman's fall, was largely absent. There was a smell, perhaps of a midden far below and the distinct tang of worked metal tickled the nose, but distantly as if the smith worked somewhere else, far but not too far. They were pushed forward again by a press of orcs, and ahead Faramir could see a stone throne on a raised dais set at one end of a square of stone benches.

The orcs argued among themselves, their foul tongue loud and raucous, but then one gave an order and three set off apparently to obey it. They returned shortly. "The king isn't ready to see you. You must wait," one addressed himself to Frodo.

Another spoke to the messenger, and a further argument broke out; Faramir and Frodo looked at each other and then at the furious orcs. Another spoke, "The words he used were not exact."

"I see," said Frodo. "Then what was the true message?"

"The king is recovering from his journey. He asks that you wait, and join him at meat."

"Thank you," said Frodo. "We would be honoured."

Which wouldn't be quite how Faramir would have put it had he been forced to tell the truth. As they waited, increasing numbers of orcs came out from openings all the way round the space to stare at them curiously. Frodo flicked a glance at Faramir; this was indeed the information for which they were risking their lives: some idea of the number of armed orcs Uglûk commanded. More than Faramir was happy with, but fewer than he had feared.

Now their only problem was getting out of Mount Gundarbad alive with the information. And there, Faramir could only trust to Frodo's luck, for he had no clue. He wondered how long Alagosín and the other Dúnedain would wait for them - for some time, but not forever.

Faramir had never seen an unarmed orc before, but deduced that this was some kind of steward or house-servant. It - he - signalled to them to follow and at that the jeering crowd opened up to let them pass. "You need not be concerned," said the steward. "They speak of your beauty, both of you, but the King has given orders that you are to be left unharmed and he has ways of making sure his orders are followed."

"Our beauty?" said Frodo.

"They do not put it into those terms, but that is their general meaning," said the steward. Somehow, Faramir was convinced that what they were saying was far cruder, and was grateful for his lack of understanding. He was sure that he did not want to discover what a crowd of orcs wanted to do with him.

They were led along a lit passage and then through a doorway finely carved, but with terrifying images of leering faces and long tongues. "Your Majesty, the visitors from the flatlands," said the steward.

Uglûk turned away from an open fire to face them. "My friends. I had hoped to have more warning to enable me to greet you in a style more suited to your station. But no matter." He turned to the steward, "Azogil, see that suitable accommodations are prepared for our guests."

Faramir didn't much care for the stress Uglûk placed on the word 'accommodations', but he followed Frodo into the room and looked round. The self-styled King of Angmar did not stint himself. The room was extraordinarily carved, the rock decorated in an ornate style where images of faces forever seemed to be peering or peeping at the watcher, they almost moved in the periphery of vision only to be stationary when looked at fully. The floors were covered in thick rugs that Faramir knew must have come from the far south, and the walls were hung with subtle tapestries woven with images that, after one glance, he tried not to look at too closely: nobody should have scenes of married intimacy on the walls of their living space. It was both splendid and horrifying at the same time.

Uglûk said, "You must be hungry after your journey, and the long wait."

"Somewhat," agreed Frodo.

"Then we shall wait no longer." At a signal from Uglûk, three orcs, also unarmed, brought in food and drink for the three of them and laid it out on a solid table. Faramir realised, embarrassed, that the meal was far better than any they had offered Uglûk, and unbidden the thought came to him that they should persuade his cook to come south.

"You must not imagine," said Uglûk, "that because nine hundred, nine and ninety of us are ill-educated vermin, the thousandth must necessarily also be so."

"So I see," Frodo helped himself to bread and salad, tasting the salad. "Not that one, Faramir," he said. "It has sandrinard."

Faramir nodded, and took something of the other foods, avoiding any meat he could not immediately identify, noting that Frodo did the same.

"That is coney, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, pointing out one he had missed, "and that one bear." They ate for a while in silence, then Uglûk said, "I do not imagine that either of you have had second thoughts about our negotiations. I do not know, therefore, what brings you here."

"Curiosity," said Frodo. "You spoke so often of your home in the north that we could not contain our impatience."

Uglûk laughed, and suddenly sounded more like the orcs outside, "I will not call you a liar, Prince Frodo. At least not in front of your face, or that of the formidable Prince Faramir. I inclined to think that you visit me for the same reason that I visited you. Which makes us even, with one notable exception: you are honourable, and I am not."

**

"At least it can be said," commented Faramir, "that he is not a liar."

"Nor did he insist we hurry dinner before throwing us into his cells," said Frodo.

Faramir laughed, despite himself, "Hobbits think of their stomachs first."

"And very sensible."

"Oh, very. For we are locked up, but we are not starving. At least, not yet."

Confinement was unbelievably dull, even more so than Faramir would have imagined. His experiences before this were of being sent to his room by his tutors when he was a boy, and though he had never been the favoured son, his room had still contained books and games. The only gain was that he and Frodo were imprisoned together, it seemed that King Uglûk did not fear them conspiring.

They knew also that for an orc cell it could have been a very great deal worse - there was but one bed, but it had a blanket which was not absolutely filthy and contained no bedbugs - at least, none with a taste for Men or hobbits. As Faramir said on their second day, "I suppose we should be grateful we're princes. If we were but ordinary travellers, we'd be somewhere in the dungeons."

"I shall contain my gratitude for when we leave," said Frodo. From which Faramir gathered that Frodo did not have a plan to get them out.

A noise at the door, and Faramir stood. He was expecting their evening meal, but instead the orc called Azogil indicated him. "You. The tall one. My master wishes to speak with you." Faramir looked at Frodo. "Move," said Azogil.

As Azogil was accompanied by several armed orcs, Frodo stepped back, "Be careful," he said.

"I will," Faramir moved, and was immediately surrounded by the guard, talking loudly among themselves in the foul orc speech. Faramir did his best to keep track of the twists and turns which led to King Uglûk's rooms; none of the orcs attempted to prevent this, indeed they seemed too intent on their conversation - if it was conversation - to notice.

King Uglûk was awaiting him, a fine meal laid out. Faramir stopped in the doorway, more than a little surprised. "Come in, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk. "Please join me."

Faramir stepped forward into the room, and looked round, realising that Azogil and the escort had not followed and that he and Uglûk were alone. He would have liked to refuse, but realised that the escort could not be far distant and that it would probably be suicide. He sat.

"I brought you here to have dinner with me. Eat."

"Not while Frodo is not present," said Faramir. "I cannot eat while he is denied." Faramir thought Uglûk looked annoyed. It was difficult to tell with an orc.

"Very well. Serve a plate for him, and I will have it taken to him." There was a pause and Uglûk added, "You have my word on it."

Faramir nodded, it was the best he was going to get. He chose foods he thought might please Frodo, and Uglûk called Azogil, who took the plate away. Faramir served himself rather less.

Uglûk said, "Are all halflings as stiff-necked as Frodo?"

"In my experience? Yes. Many of them are worse."

"And you endure it?"

"Of course. Frodo and I are handfasted." Belatedly, Faramir wondered exactly how much an orc would understand of hobbit or Gondorian marriage customs.

"I am told that you were handfasted by your father's wish."

"That is so."

"Not by yours?"

"I had no objection to the match," said Faramir, possibly a trifle too quickly.

"Or at least you raised none, which is not quite the same thing."

"I had none," Faramir, suddenly not really hungry, pushed his food around his plate.

Uglûk ate in silence for a few minutes, and then tried another tack. "Has your handfasting to Prince Frodo achieved your father's aim for it?"

Curse Uglûk, thought Faramir. Where does he get his information? "I have no idea," he said. "You will have to ask him."

"It keeps you well away from the White Tower, would you not agree?"

"Yes." This was so obvious as to hardly need saying. There were hundreds of leagues between Bree and Minas Tirith.

"And while you are here, you are even further away."

"I don't understand," said Faramir. Nothing more than the truth.

"Perhaps we can sit somewhere more comfortable?" suggested Uglûk. Faramir didn't particularly wish to move, but Uglûk led them over to a low seat, so Faramir had to follow him.

"I would speak plainly, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, once they were both seated.

"Please do." This cat-stepping was getting them nowhere, and Faramir was anxious to have it over.

"Frodo uses you shamefully, yet you remain with him. Your loyalty is misplaced and I offer you release."

Faramir only just in time prevented himself from laughing in Uglûk's face, though later he wondered if he it might have been wiser to do so. As it was he smiled, and he felt his mouth twitch. "I fear you have been misinformed, King Uglûk. Frodo has never done anything to me that I did not earnestly desire. I have no need of rescue."

**

"Then he... Frodo! Stop laughing! He tried to kiss me. He said he could satisfy my need for discipline as no other could."

"Your need for..."

"He said I need a firm master who will control me and that you let me run wild. I have no idea what he meant by that."

Frodo laughed even louder, "Someone must have told him about the whip that Queen Arwen gave me."

"Oh." Faramir shuddered, "I thought he was going to...but he didn't. He was disturbed, called away."

"That must have been a relief."

"It was."

Frodo still looked amused, but he said, "You must not go to him alone again. I don't think for a moment he's given up the idea of enticing you into his bed."

"What?"

"Faramir! Sometimes you are entirely too honourable for your own good. He tried to seduce you..." Faramir choked, but Frodo went on, "and if he does not succeed it is likely he will turn to force. And I believe he is serious about discipline."

"Why me?"

"Faramir!" Frodo leaned forward and stroked his face, "You are beautiful."

"You think that only..."

"Not just because we are wedded. Many think so." Frodo sat down beside him and leaned his head on Faramir's arm. "No doubt you see yourself...were you a skinny child?"

"No! If anything, I was rather too plump. Boromir says I was too much alone, and ate for that reason. It all wore away when he taught me to handle a sword properly. I was eleven, he was sixteen and seemed already to be a man."

"You still see yourself as that podgy child who displeased his father."

"That was another reason I ate too much."

"Everyone else sees a very attractive man. I see you like that even though I am your husband,. How could I not? I like it when everyone looks at me with envy."

"Envy?" said Faramir.

"You have not seen it?"

"Not until now."

**

Faramir listened intently. The noise came again and proved to be a scratching somewhere in the corridor. He wondered if it could be a rat, until now there had been little sign of them, but it was more than possible in an orc den. He uncurled himself from around Frodo and stood, feeling his way in the darkness to the door.

There was a noise at the door and the hatch through which their guards could look opened. Faramir recognised Azogil. "What do you want?" he asked. He had a suspicion that an order to go to Uglûk in the middle of the night could mean nothing good. On the other hand, Azogil had never come to the cell without a guard before. The door opened.

"You want to get out of here?" said Azogil. He stepped back.

"Of course."

"Then go. Quickly."

Faramir woke Frodo and they left the cell, Frodo still stumbling from sleep. "What's happening?" Faramir asked. From far away he could hear shouting, fell orc voices that he remembered from Osgiliath and the siege of Minas Tirith.

"Nothing to do with you," replied Azogil. He pointed to a passage which led away from the King's chambers. "Go that way."

"Why?"

"Because it's safer than the other. Are all Men as stupid as you, or are you specially bred?"

"Let's do as he says," said Frodo.

Azogil ran off, and Faramir followed Frodo up an incline in the pitch darkness. "Can you see where we're going?"

"Just," said Frodo. Faramir felt Frodo's hand take his. He felt comforted, though would have felt more so had they had weapons, or anything with which to defend themselves. Frodo said, "I wish you were safe. I should never have brought you here."

Faramir almost laughed, "I feel the same about you. I should have prevented you from coming, but whatever we face I had rather you did it in my company than that of any other."

"So King Elessar would lose both of us and not just one."

"I confess I wasn't really thinking of him. If it cost me my life, I would rather know that I had done all I could for you, rather than wonder to the end of my days if I could have done more."

"This is a merry conversation to be having in the pitch darkness, Faramir. We're neither of us dead yet."

"I begin to see how you made it across Mordor."

"And this is a little too reminiscent of that journey if you ask me. In future, remind me to leave all orcs and their doings to the Dúnedain. Likewise trolls and all other foul... Ouch!" Frodo tripped, and Faramir felt around. A fallen orc, sticky with blood, but Faramir put his hand on a sword. Orc weapons were notoriously poor, but it was better than nothing.

They walked on in the pitch dark, a little more cautiously. "What do you think is going on?" said Frodo.

"I've no idea; we may never find out."

"And why release us?"

Faramir thought about it and said, "King Uglûk's dying wish? A sudden outbreak of kindness? Enchantment?"

"In other words, could be anything." They fell silent; there was a noise up ahead, and a flickering light. "This way," said Frodo. "Quickly!" He led the way into a chamber, and only just in time. Three orcs were coming towards them; one held a box, another held a torch aloft. The third appeared empty handed.

Faramir let go of Frodo's hand, and as the last of the orcs passed he jumped out. He had no time to warn Frodo to stay put and hoped he'd show some hobbit sense and do so without being told. The nearest orc was dispatched at speed - taken by surprise, it had no chance against Faramir even armed as he was. The second two proved something more of a challenge, but the corridor was too narrow for them to attack him at the same time.

"What's in the box?" Frodo asked when they were all dead.

Faramir opened it, "I'm not sure what it is. Well, I've seen a necklace before - opals, I think these are, but I'm not sure what this is." He held up a block of polished stone about four inches square.

"Bring it with us."

"And if it turns out to be cursed?"

"It'll be too late, we've both already handled it." Frodo took it and put it back into the box.

They continued along the corridor, avoiding the small bands of orcs as best they could and eventually reached a junction. "Where now?" asked Faramir.

"I think we should continue to go upwards; these stairs are a nuisance but they have to lead somewhere."

Faramir forbore to point out that this was not necessarily so, not least because he didn't have an alternative plan. The stairs were very steep, and harder on Frodo than on him, but Frodo made no complaint. Faramir's opinion of Frodo, always high, rose further.

"I can see light ahead," said Frodo.

Faramir squinted, "I think you're right." The light was slightly bluish at this distance, and not flickering, daylight not torches. "And I think we'd better be quick, I can hear voices."

The opening was unguarded, but higher up than Faramir would have ideally liked and there was no time to examine it closely. He lifted Frodo - who was heavier than he would have expected - and he looked out. "We'll manage," he said, "come on" and he scrambled out.

The voices were closer, Faramir scrambled up to the opening, ripping his shirt as he did so, and then out, head first. He slid down the side of the mountain onto the path, and arrived at Frodo's feet in a heap. "I'm probably going to get the blame for that black eye you're going to have," said Frodo, as he helped Faramir up. "Still, as you wouldn't have been there without me, I suppose I am to blame."

**

Alagosín and the Dúnedain were still waiting when Faramir and Frodo rejoined them. They had lost all track of time in the endless dark of Mount Gundarbad, and it was late afternoon. Both Frodo and Faramir would have sworn it was later in the evening had they been asked when inside, so they were surprised to find the sun high in the sky. The more so as it meant that it was not raining.

"We have seen little enough of the orcs and goblins of the mountain," said Alagosín, "a scouting party left two days ago, and two of my men followed them. They went north east and have not yet returned."

"I do not know what is beyond the Forodwaith," said Frodo, "we shall have to trust it is nothing to do with us."

**

"You're planning something," said Frodo, as they rode back.

"Nothing interesting, I assure you. Troop dispositions," said Faramir. "The placement of the rangers I need to discuss with Alagosín; we will need to have protection in place for our villages now that Uglûk knows how ill-defended we are."

"And we have some idea of the forces he can call upon," said Frodo. "Sometimes I hate being a prince. I feel the people blame me even for the weather."

"Blame the king in turn," said Faramir, amused. "He's a long way off, it won't bother him."

**

"Cheesman!" said Faramir, as soon as he saw the house steward on their return. "A bath for Prince Frodo - and for me."

"At once, or sooner, sir. And your father wants to see you."

Faramir stopped, "What?"

"Arrived almost as soon as we got them rooms cleaned out. Mistress Gamgee's at her wits' end. Mr Gamgee too, I shouldn't wonder, though he hasn't said much about it."

"And Prestoliel? She's still here?"

"Yes," said Cheesman, his tone conveying everything. "Mistress Gamgee's been trying to persuade 'em to go home, but...well, you know how it is."

"Faramir!" Denethor's voice came from behind.

"Yes, father," Faramir struggled to keep his tone polite as he turned.

"I would speak with you."

"Yes, father. But you will have to wait, I need to give orders to our men at arms, and then I have other duties. I will meet you at dinner, and we can talk then." He supposed 'other duties' could remotely include washing.

"I insist..."

"At dinner, father." Faramir turned on his heel and left.

**

Clean at last, he slipped into Frodo's room to find him dressing in fresh clothes. He went over and buttoned Frodo's shirt. Frodo smiled, "You avoided your father."

"I did."

"He wasn't pleased."

"I can imagine. I'm sorry if he was rude to you." Faramir reached down to pick up Frodo's waistcoat, and then helped him into it.

"No more than I was to him. I'm sorry, that's likely to make dinner even more unpleasant than our servants usually make it." Frodo stroked the damp hair out of Faramir's eyes, then pulled him close for a kiss.

Faramir enjoyed it for a while, and then said, "You are forgiven."

"In advance?"

"Even so." He laughed, feeling Frodo's hand on the lacings of his shirt. "Would you have me waste my time getting undressed and then dressed again?"

"I would. Do you know it is nearly six weeks since I last saw you on your back in my bed?"

"Is it so long?"

"It is." Frodo removed his hand. "Though if we continue, we will keep your father waiting."

"I did not need another reason to be persuaded, the touch of your hand is sufficient."

"Then let us lose no time in keeping him waiting."

**

From Denethor's annoyed expression, Faramir gathered that they had kept him far longer than he was accustomed to - for all his toughness Denethor liked regular meals and regular hours. Knowing this, Faramir tried to keep the well-pleased expression off his face but guessed that he was only partially successful.

"Good evening, father," he tried for politeness.

"Where were you?" asked Denethor. He led the way into the dining room. "I arrived to find you both gone."

"When was that?" said Faramir.

"Thirteen days ago."

"We were being held prisoner by orcs thirteen days ago," replied Faramir.

"Nonsense!"

"I assure you it is not. We were lucky to escape with our lives," Faramir caught sight of Rose's horrified expression and supposed he was putting this rather baldly.

"We are surprised to find you here," said Frodo, his tone deceptively gentle. "You are most welcome, of course, but we are curious to know to what we owe this visit."

"I came as soon as I heard my...wife was headed here," said Denethor.

"Ah yes, the Lady Prestoliel. I had thought she might dine with us; where is she?"

"I have no idea."

"Cheesman?" Frodo turned to the household steward.

"Eating in her room," said Cheesman. "Has done ever since he...Lord Denethor got here."

"Thank you." Frodo sighed. "Cheesman, inform her that in future she will eat with us. We cannot have her making extra work for the servants."

"They don't mind..."

"But I do. Inform her, please."

"As you wish," spoken in the tone of a steward washing his hands of the consequences.

"Your servants," said Denethor, "are the rudest and most ill-trained I have ever encountered."

Faramir saw Samwise's furious expression and shook his head, fractionally. He was as offended on the part of the servants as Samwise and Rose, but no good ever came of arguing with Denethor.

"Are they?" said Frodo. Denethor looked annoyed at Frodo's indifference.

"In Gondor," said Faramir, after a moment, choosing his words carefully, "there are those who have served for generations. Eriador is not the same. People work for us, but they are not trained to service in the same way and we do not expect that kind of..."

Frodo interrupted, "It is sufficient that the tasks are done. We don't expect to be fawned over." After a moment he added, "The cook's improved, though."

"I moved them around," said Rose. "The servants."

"Thank you, Rose," said Faramir, "from the bottom of my heart. And stomach. Where is the old cook?"

"Managing the cellar. He'll do much better there."

Denethor looked irritated as Rose and Faramir held a purely domestic conversation. Finally he said, "Is this what I trained you for? Pantry maids and stable hands?"

"Yes, father," said Faramir, rather surprised. "I thought you knew."

"Boromir..."

Faramir seized on the change of subject, and asked, "How is my brother?"

Denethor scowled, and said nothing more.

**

Next day, Denethor sought him out, "I would talk with you."

"Yes?" Faramir sat and indicated he continue.

"Boromir is a disappointment to me..."

"Boromir is?" Faramir stared, astonished. Though perhaps on second thoughts he should not be.

"Éowyn has parted from him and returned with the children to her own people in Rohan. Boromir says it is his doing, but not what the fault is."

Faramir sighed. He could guess but did not care to. "I'm sorry that my brother has difficulties but..."

Denethor had not finished, "Éowyn always liked you..."

"And I consider her to be the best of women and my brother most fortunate." Faramir sat back in his chair and waited while Denethor frowned at him. Finally he said, "I do not know what you expect of me, father."

"You are wasted here and should return to Minas Tirith, which is your home."

Faramir was staggered, "It is kind of you to say so, father, but Eriador is my home now. It became so when I handfasted to Frodo, a handfasting to which you fully consented."

"Indeed you do not defy my will. And now my will has changed."

At last they were getting to it. "Too late, father."

"What do you mean?"

"Had you made it possible for me to wed Éowyn I would have done so in an eye blink. But you made your wishes in the matter clear and so I stepped back to make way for my brother. If my brother has done aught which has caused his wife distress, I can only express my heartfelt sympathy for her and hope they reconcile quickly. As for me, my loyalty no longer lies with you but to the husband to whom you knowingly gave me."

Denethor raised his hands in a movement almost like an invocation, "What have I done to be cursed with two such sons?"

"I'm sorry I displease you, father. Had I known it would suit your policies better I would have done my best to have an unhappy marriage." Faramir instantly regretted his words, "I am sorry, father, I should not mock."

"Indeed not. And is he happy with you?"

**

"Frodo?" Faramir stepped into his husband's room with rather less than his usual confidence.

"What's gone wrong now?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. Then why the 'we have trolls in the wilderland and the cook has burned the soup' expression?"

Faramir sat on the edge of the bed and watched Frodo pull on a jacket. He usually dressed hobbit-style, something Faramir found endearing but mildly curious.

"Out with it," said Frodo.

"Are you happy with me?"

"Whom have you killed?"

Faramir looked up, startled, "Nobody."

"Insulted, then? It wouldn't be like you, but anything's possible."

"Nobody." Faramir smiled, "At least, not on purpose and not recently."

"In that case, why the question?"

"I just wondered."

Frodo came over and sat beside him on the bed. "I think," he said, "that your father will have to leave and that he will have to take his wife with him."

"I..."

"I will tell them tomorrow. Likely they will both come to you to express their discontent." Frodo took his hand.

Faramir swallowed, "Very well."

"To answer your question," Frodo's hand tightened on his, "you are the only thing which makes this life bearable."

**

Denethor was infuriated, as Frodo had told Faramir he would be. "You can overrule this...all know that you are the power here."

"'All' are wrong, father. I merely make suggestions; often Frodo hears them, sometimes he does not. But when he gives an order, he is obeyed, including by me, because he is the prince." Faramir tried to soften his voice, "Frodo has made his will on this matter clear, and I will not cross it."

"You would not if you could."

"Even so, father. I'm sorry." Faramir sighed, "The journey will not be so hard, and perhaps you will reconcile with Prestoliel." His father's expression said eloquently that he thought this unlikely.

Perhaps, thought Faramir as he returned to his rooms, using serving women had been easier for father. Prestoliel must not find Denethor very entertaining company during the long evenings in Minas Tirith. Her desperate wanderings appeared an extreme response to loneliness and the death of her child, but what did Faramir know of it? He and Frodo at the very least enjoyed each other's company and that was something for which he was sincerely grateful.

 

Part VIII

Nothink for nothink 'ere, and precious little for sixpence.  
Punch vol. lvii, p152. 1869.

Faramir strolled into the Common Room of the Prancing Pony; his arrival caused heads to turn only among the strangers, the locals were used to him by now. "Your usual, sir?" said Butterbur.

"Yes. Thank you, Barliman."

"I'll have a word with you later, if I may?"

"Of course," Faramir took his ale to his accustomed seat by the window, not far from the fire. Some travellers, dwarves for the most part, looked at him curiously for a while - no doubt the locals had told them who he was - but no-one disturbed him.

"How's business?" he asked, when Barliman joined him.

"Not bad. The improvements to the roads mean there's more people through. Pity about those taxes, though."

Faramir kept his smile to himself, "Improvements to the roads have to be paid for somehow."

"No doubt you and Prince Frodo know what you're doing."

"To tell the truth, Barliman, no. We're making it up as we go along. But we're doing our best."

Barliman smiled, but Faramir could see he was not believed. It was far easier for the people to imagine that there was some grand scheme to rebuild Arnor, but Faramir knew only too well that the only thing he had Frodo could hope for was to rule justly, shore up what was already in place, and hope they were not overtaken by some disaster. Faramir asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"You remember when you and Prince Frodo first came back? I told you that there were people coming along the East Road and through Bree who seemed to be escaping trouble?"

"I recall, yes."

"At first it settled down, but lately it's been happening again. The rangers are still here, right enough, I saw that there Alagosín the other day and I'd've asked him about it but he hardly stopped for a sup of ale before he was on his way again. I know that you know 'em, sir, so I wondered if you'd have a word about it?"

Faramir looked again across the inn at the travellers, "I can try - the rangers don't exactly answer to Frodo, as you know, and certainly not to me. Where do the strangers go? Do you know?"

"That's the other odd thing. Some have said that rather than heading south or west as most do, they go north."

"To Fornost?"

"The North Downs and Deadman's Dike," said Barliman. "Nobody sensible 'ud want to go there."

Faramir smiled, "It's the ruins of the city of Fornost, also known as Norbury of the King. But there's nothing there, or not that I've heard."

**

"I suppose Aragorn could have sent them?" said Frodo. When Faramir returned to the castle he'd noticed a light burning in Frodo's rooms. "I imagine he would have told us, but he might have forgotten or the message gone astray."

Faramir smiled, "Surely not gone astray? He's so pleased with that messenger service."

Frodo laughed, "He is, isn't he? I hardly have the heart to tell him it works well enough in Gondor but tends to break down a bit as soon as it gets through the Gap of Rohan, and letters can wait two weeks at Tharbad while the messengers drink, gamble and visit houses of ill-repute."

Faramir blinked, "There are houses of ill-repute at Tharbad?" He crossed the room to sit on the comfortable seat beside Frodo.

Frodo set aside the papers he'd been working on. "There were houses of ill-repute in Minas Tirith, but you were too honourable to notice them."

"I am not a complete innocent," said Faramir, stung.

"Faramir! You took Sam to one and failed to notice what it was."

"But I only ever went to one wine shop with Sam. Oh. He must have thought me very stupid."

"No. Just someone who spent too much time in council chambers and libraries and on campaign. But it does explain why your father spent that evening giving you Morgoth's stare."

"I thought it was because I spent all day in a wine shop, drinking."

"It was because you spent all day in a brothel. He thought I might find out and turn you down. Even Bree has a brothel."

"Not the Pony!"

"No!" Frodo laughed, "Butterbur doesn't even employ women to wait at table in case they get their bottoms pinched. It's the Muddy Duck on Twofarthing Lane."

"The scruffy little inn on the corner by that tumbledown cottage? I've seen it, but I've never been there."

"I know you haven't. If you had, someone in this town of long tongues wagging at both ends would have instantly made sure I found out about it. And neither have I, for the same reason."

Faramir made an effort to return to their original subject, "What about the strangers travelling to Fornost?"

"I can't imagine what they might want, there is no treasure there that I ever heard though I suppose they might believe differently. May even be right for all I know. Nobody lives there, so they're not visiting relatives."

"I left a message with Butterbur for the rangers to contact me."

"Good. In the meantime, I don't think there's much we can do. People are free to visit the ruins of Fornost if they wish, even if we don't know why they're there. What are you thinking?"

Faramir smiled, "In Minas Tirith when I was growing up, a man obtained permission from my father to use his library. I remember talking to him; he used to dig up old houses and the bones of the dead, not to steal or despoil or father would have had him hanged, but to study them. He wrote down everything he learned about how the people of the Elder Days lived, hoping to recapture Gondor's lost greatness. Most people thought him mad."

"Do you think these travellers are of the same mind?"

"I doubt it," Faramir smiled more widely at the idea. "I doubt there could be more than one such oddity. But it occurred to me now how interesting Orodreth would have found Fornost."

"You liked him?"

"I did, strangely enough. I found his study and his theories most interesting. I would have liked to learn more of his methods and discoveries, but of course soldiering came first."

"Everything in your life took second place to that," said Frodo. He leaned against Faramir, and put an arm around his waist.

"Of course, it was necessary. Still is," Faramir wanted to break Frodo's suddenly melancholy mood. "I don't regret it."

"Do you ever wonder what might have been?"

"Not usually. After all, I made a terrible mistake had I wanted any other kind of life."

"What was that?" Frodo was clearly bewildered.

"Chose the wrong parents," said Faramir. It worked, Frodo laughed, and Faramir smiled at him.

**

A few days later Alagosín arrived at the castle. Cheesman, for once following his instructions, showed him in to one of the smaller rooms. "Do you ever use the throne room," Alagosín asked.

"Not if we can avoid it," Faramir looked up from the papers he was reading.

Alagosín laughed, "Those thrones don't look too comfortable."

"They're not. Not even metaphorically." He put papers and pen aside and indicated that Alagosín should sit. "Have you talked to Butterbur?"

"Yes."

"What do you make of it?"

"The travellers, as you noticed, are mostly dwarves. Which is curious. It occurred to us some time ago that with the balrog gone and Sauron defeated, Moria is no longer closed to them. We know they have tried to enter Moria by way of the Dimrill Dale, and found that way closed. They crossed the mountains using the northern pass, for Caradrhas remains resistant and the Redhorn Gate is closed, and tried to enter using the gates of Hollin. It appears that way is also blocked."

"I know these places by name only - the minstrels sing of them when they tell the tale of Frodo of the Nine Fingers." Faramir sighed, "But none do so in this hall unless Samwise is present. For him alone will Frodo endure it, and even then not always. Go on, what do the dwarves want in Fornost?"

"We believe they are here on instructions, though whose we do not know. Nor do we know what they seek; we believe it may have something to do with their attempts to enter Moria, but that is merely supposition."

Faramir twirled his pen in his fingers, "I could go and find out, but I would not leave Frodo when he is unwell."

"The Ringbearer is ill?"

"At this time of year the memory of all he endured presses upon him. He will recover in a day or two."

**

"You should go," said Frodo. He sat by the fire, dressed, but warmly for the time of year, and he looked pale and tired.

"We will, if it is still necessary, when you have recovered." Faramir saw the mutinous look on Frodo's face. "We face our dangers together, and the matter is not so urgent that it cannot wait a few more days."

"We do not know that."

"Then we will trust to good fortune. Alagosín and three of the rangers have gone to spy out the land and I have written to the King Under the Mountain. I have done all that is immediately possible. If what is at the bottom of this is an attempt to get into Moria without the leave of King Elessar or Thorin Stonehelm then I pity them. But no law I know of says they must approach us before going to Fornost." Faramir did not like the look on Frodo's face. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm being foolish, I'm sure."

Faramir sat beside Frodo on the low chair, and took his hand gently into his own. "What worries you?"

"Always during this time of year my mind and heart are full of the dark."

"I know." Faramir wanted so much to bring Frodo comfort. He tried, but he could never find the right words.

"These dreams, this dream was different. Most are of the past, and for all their pain I know they are gone. This was more of the now, a warning in my heart that you are in danger." Frodo smiled suddenly. "But you have done your best, and we must trust that is sufficient. What is for dinner?"

"You must be feeling better. I believe it is pork, unless they have burned it, in which case it will be something else."

"Faramir, have you no trust in our servants?"

"Do I need to answer that?"

**

By the time that Alagosín returned Frodo was well again to Faramir's relief, and they were together in that same warm room - for it was a cold spring in Eriador that year. Frodo indicated that Alagosín should sit, and asked, "What news? Faramir told me where you've been."

Alagosín stretched out in the warmth of the fire, to Faramir's amusement; Alagosín normally appeared above such minor matters as physical comfort. "Deadman's Dike is a peculiar place and not somewhere I'd would wish return had I a choice."

"Did you discover what the travellers seek?" asked Faramir.

"Yes and no."

"And I thought elves spoke in riddles," said Frodo. "Is it a taint one picks up from contact?"

"It may be," said Alagosín, looking amused at the idea.

"That would explain fully half of everything King Elessar writes," said Frodo.

"I do not think so," said Faramir, after a moment. "My brother is much worse, everything in pages and pages of tortured prose." Faramir had received a letter from Boromir only the day before, one that covered everything happening in Ithilien but nothing at all about Éowyn or the children. "It is fortunate that he does not write often."

"And the elvish blood in your mother's house of Dol Amroth is but a myth?" Frodo's smile was teasing.

"Ah. I had forgotten that. You may be correct after all."

Alagosín laughed, "Frodo is usually right, I've found. To return to my journey?" Frodo indicated he continue. "When we arrived at Fornost we discovered several groups of travellers, not just one, and dwarves and men. None would give a clear account of their reason for being there, their aims and purposes. There being already broken heads among them, we brought them back to Bree and have them in the lockholes here. We hope the authority of the prince might be of assistance."

Faramir caught Frodo's resigned glance. Frodo murmured, "What a pity that when the folk of Bree built this castle they omitted dungeons. This is not the first time we've been inconvenienced this way."

**

"Business must be good at the Mucky Duck," said Frodo as they rode past next morning.

Faramir looked round, "It's doubled in size! Ah, I see, they have incorporated that cottage. I would imagine Bree does host many travellers passing through." From Frodo's troubled expression, Faramir gathered that they were of one mind on the matter. Everywhere had an unpleasant side; he recalled that even Rivendell had privies, and that they were very clean privies only underlined to his mind the fact that someone had to clean them. There was little they could do about the brothel unless someone complained.

Faramir was accustomed to dealing with the stubborn: after all, he and Frodo had now been handfasted for some eight years. The stubbornness of dwarves, however, was legendary, and as Faramir discovered, they entirely lived up to it.

He remembered with some vividness the story Bilbo had told him in Rivendell, how Thranduil of Mirkwood kept Thorin Oakenshield and company in his dungeons for several weeks before Bilbo had rescued them. He could only hope these dwarves proved less resistant and were not supplied with a resourceful hobbit.

After a fruitless morning trying to persuade a group of dwarves to tell him something - anything - Faramir moved on to the men. "Where are you from?" he asked, "for I perceive that you are like and yet unlike the men of Rohan."

"Dunland," said one. He was a sandy-haired fellow, somewhat younger than Faramir.

"Your village?"

"Swansrest. It lies to the east of the road, south of Swanfleet."

"Your name?"

"Cinadry. Why are we being held here? We have done naught wrong, not like others."

"If you answer my questions honestly you will be permitted to go on your way," said Faramir, as patiently as he could manage. "What do you seek here?"

"You waste my time with questions..." Cinadry stopped.

One of his companions had put a hand on Cinadry's arm, and this man now spoke, "Sir. We have no quarrel with any here save the men we seek, and you are not among them."

"Whom do you seek?" Faramir had no feeling that these men were attempting to mislead him. "Tell your story."

"Some men came to our village, this was late last year. They offered my daughter gold to come north, promised her a job as a servant in a great house. I did not believe them and sent them packing. After winter they returned, again offering gold if she would come. All fathers imagine their daughters to be beautiful and talented, but my Ketas is more than most, and I did not trust them. I sent them away again." Cinadry looked up, suddenly. "Have you daughters yourself?"

"No," said Faramir.

"Then you are fortunate. Their talk had filled her head with thoughts of finery, and nothing would please her but that she go with them. Even her mother pleaded with her saying that there were no fine houses in the north. Though now, seeing you, I see that that is not so."

"Go on."

"I tried to persuade her once again, and I am afraid that in my anger and nameless fear I struck her. It was a mistake, I know that now. In the night she must have packed up her few things and when her mother called her to help with the milking she was gone. Our house is but one room, she..." Cinadry stopped and swallowed, "She must have been so silent..."

Faramir silently handed the man a kerchief, and waited for him to calm. "You believe they came north? That they were not leading her to Minas Tirith or Edoras?"

"No, sir," one of the others answered. "I was up before dawn that morning, and I saw them leave. I did not realise that Ketas was with them or I would have tried to stop them leaving. They were heading north as I watched them."

"I blame myself still," said Cinadry. "If only we had been able to follow that same day..."

"We did not at first realise she had run," said the second man. "Her mother believed she was away sulking, as she had been the first time the men left. We lost time."

"Your wife was right about one thing," said Faramir, as gently as he could, "there are few fine houses in the north. I..."

"She is not employed in Bree," said Cinadry. "That we have found out. And nor does she work for the unnatural princes in their castle in the lands beyond. Perhaps she works for you?"

"I fear not," said Faramir. "At least, we have no servant called Ketas, and I know all my servants by name." He waited again for Cinadry to calm. "That explains what you were doing here in the north, but why had you gone to Fornost?"

"Where?"

"The place where the rangers found you. You may also know it as the North Downs, Deadman's Dike or Norbury of the Kings."

"Deadman's Dike is the best name for it," said Cinadry, with a shiver. "One of us, Tuon here, thought he recognised one of the men who came to our village. We followed him, he was with some others. We were never sure..."

"I was," broke in Tuon. "I swear that one of them was the one who called himself Naerdir."

"What did they do when you reached Deadman's Dike?"

"Waited until nightfall, then set upon the dwarves. When your men came they ran off," said Tuon. "They weren't caught like the rest of us."

"I see." Faramir leaned back.

"What will happen to us now?" asked Cinadry.

"Nothing. What inn were you staying in while in Bree?"

"An inn?" Tuon smiled, "We do not have the silver to pay for an inn. We set up camp in a field belonging to one of those little people. He said he didn't mind."

"Do you know his name?"

"Something odd. Greenleaf, I think, as if leaves come in many other colours."

"Do you remember his other name?" asked Faramir. "There are many hobbits called Greenleaf in Bree." The Dunlendings looked at each other helplessly. Faramir continued, "I must check your story before I can release you. In the meantime, I will send some men at arms back to Fornost to try to find the men you told me of and to the villages around to see if any have heard of your daughter."

"How can you do this? Who are you?" Tuon looked at Faramir with new respect.

"I am the unnatural prince who intends to see to it that your daughter's fate is discovered. So if any part of your story is untrue, or there is more that would help, please speak quickly."

**

"Were they telling the truth?" asked Frodo at dinner that night.

"It was a long and complicated lie, if it was one. The man seemed genuinely distraught at the loss of his daughter, they were Dunlendings and they had been staying in Hugo Greenleaf's field. That took me less than half an ale in the Pony to find out."

"And the girl?"

"Nobody in Bree has a Dunlending maidservant, nor yet in Archet, Staddle or Coombe. Or any foreign maidservant that I can discover." Faramir looked up from his food to see Frodo looking amused, "Out with it, whatever it is."

"What did he say when he realised who you were?"

"Nothing. Well, he thanked me for my help, though I have yet done nothing for him."

"What do you think has happened to her?"

Faramir lifted his goblet, looked into his wine for a moment and then said, "A young girl from a poor family enticed away by strangers? Likely she's dead."

"Yes," said Frodo. "That had occurred to me, too."

**

Next day Faramir and Frodo returned to the lockholes to question the dwarves. He gave the order to release the Dunlendings, but cautioned them against leaving Bree. There was nothing they could do which was not already being done.

The dwarves told him very little and Frodo only a small amount more. Faramir wished heartily that there was a fast method of getting word to the King under the Mountain, but the messenger had been gone only a few days.

The dwarves had, of course, been separated from their baggage, and Faramir saw Frodo eyeing the packs speculatively. "What is in your mind?" he asked.

"I believe I have the beginnings of a plan. Though perhaps it would be better if you knew nothing of it."

"No. Whatever it is I will bear my part of the responsibility for it in the eyes of our people."

Frodo looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Very well."

**

Frodo had some of their men at arms lay the packs out on the floor of the passageway outside the cells. "I intend," he told the dwarves, "to have our men search your packs. We would prefer to do this with your agreement..." Frodo's eyes moved to Faramir, who had insisted they be given the opportunity to give permission. "But if necessary we will have them do so without."

A man at arms, Faramir knew he had the curious name of Borninmay, picked up the first, and Faramir asked, "Whose is this?"

"Mine," came a dwarvish voice from the nearest cell.

"Your permission?"

"Very well. I have nothing to hide."

"Let us hope not," said Frodo.

Faramir did not much like the idea of searching the baggage of innocent travellers, and some of their prisoners were innocent, at least of intending harm to any in Bree-land or Eriador. These Frodo ordered released. That left five dwarves who looked dangerously mutinous at their continued incarceration, but who could not explain the blasting powder in their baggage. These Frodo ordered to be locked up again, each held separately.

"There are days," said Frodo as he climbed down from his pony, "when I hate being prince. I would have much preferred to remain quietly at Bag End but I suppose that would have been a waste of your talents."

"Mine?" said Faramir. "You rule here."

Frodo looked amused, "And I suppose you merely provide decoration?"

"And a long arm with a sword."

"Which it looks as if someone has need of," Frodo turned as a man entered the gates at a run. "Bob? What's happened?"

"It's Butterbur, he says can one of you come quickly?"

When Faramir arrived at the Prancing Pony it was to find a chaotic scene of overturned tables and spilled ale. "What happened, Barliman?" Faramir surveyed the mess in perplexity. There were occasionally arguments, even fights, at the Pony, but normally these were nothing Butterbur couldn't cope with. This looked, from the damage and the mess, to be altogether out of the ordinary.

"It was them there Dunlendings. You didn't ought to have let them out of the lockholes."

Faramir sighed, "They had done nothing wrong. I had no choice."

"Well, they've done something wrong now!"

"Tell me what happened...I mean before the fight started."

"There were a few bodies in, just having a sup of ale and a talk as they do." Butterbur sat down on the remains of a settle. "Then one of them Dunlendings was here, and says he's looking for a bloke what he's seen come in. There weren't nobody - I mean, nobody he wanted - in the Common Room. So he waited quietly enough for a bit and then started wandering. I don't like that, you know I don't. Folks have a right to have their dinners private-like. So I threw him out. Next thing I know he's telling me that all us northerners - pardon your presence, sir - are in league with someone for something I didn't rightly understand. Some of my regulars didn't like that and a fight started. The other Dunlendings joined in and this is the result." Butterbur looked sadly round the wrecked common room.

"I see," said Faramir. "Which of the Dunlendings was it?"

"All of 'em."

"The one who started it?"

"I don't know. They all look the same to me."

"Well, thank you, Barliman. I'll do what I can," said Faramir.

"Think they'll pay for the damage?"

Faramir had to be honest, "I doubt it, Barliman. If they had any money they'd be staying at your inn, not wrecking it."

**

The sun was starting to set as Faramir rode across Hugo Greenleaf's meadow. The Dunlendings stood around their camp, and they looked particularly sullen to see Faramir arrive.

"You have come to take us away," Tuon stepped forward.

"Not necessarily," replied Faramir.

"And hardly on his own," one of the others said.

"We would not fight him," said Tuon. "There has been enough foolishness of that kind for one day."

"Where is Cinadry?" asked Faramir.

The Dunlendings looked at each other. "He's disappeared," said Tuon.

Faramir could only hope he didn't look as blank as he felt. "In Bree?" he said. "How?"

"He said he'd seen one of those we seek, going into the inn. He was going there to see him. He never came back. That was yesterday. So Duin here went to the inn to try to find him. The innkeeper doesn't like us; he would not help and tried to throw Duin out when he tried to search. We went to help him and a fight started."

"You say he went to an inn," Faramir said. "Which inn?"

"There is but one."

"There are three," corrected Faramir. "The Prancing Pony, the Sun and the Mucky Duck."

"We only know of one."

"And we know that he is not there. So that leaves the Sun and the Mucky Duck." Faramir sighed. "Do not come with me; you have done more than enough damage for one day."

Faramir's horse gave him a rather martyred look as he remounted; Bree was not a large town, but it was larger than it had been when Faramir first passed through. The Sun was closer so he went there first. Nothing. The inn catered mostly to big folk of the poorer sort, and though they looked at him with distrust, he was satisfied that they had not seen the missing Dunlending.

**

The moment Faramir walked through the door of the Mucky Duck he realised that he should probably have brought at least one of his men-at-arms with him. On the other hand, there was nothing obviously objectionable about the place. Some men sat with ale or wine, and in a corner on a slightly raised dais, a young woman sat with a harp, singing as a young man played the flute. Her dress was somewhat more revealing than most Bree-women would wear in the street, but actually rather less so than he had seen on some young women at the Court at Minas Tirith.

All stared at him as he crossed the room, which was rather uncomfortable, but he reached the bar without comment being made. The barman turned to face him. It was Gamil Twotrees.

Something clicked into place in Faramir's mind. Had Twotrees smiled, Faramir would have been hard put to it to keep his hand from the hilt of his sword, but all he said was, "A drink, sir."

"Very well," said Faramir. What he had to ask might go better with a drink.

"Wine?"

Faramir nodded and took the drink he was offered. He looked about again; the other men had gone back to their drinks and the girl sang on without appearing to have noticed him. Her face was very pale, and her lips redder than was natural. Her hair was blonde, but unwashed looking. Faramir sipped his wine and turned back to Twotrees.

**

The room was dark, Faramir felt dizzy and very sick. He recognised the effects of sandrinard, but was too nauseated to care. He groaned, unable to help himself, and there was a movement somewhere in the room. He wondered if it was some kind of vermin, but then heard a noise, perhaps a sob, certainly a sniff, and a shuffle.

He tried to remember what had happened. He was sure he'd talked to Twotrees. He seemed to recall a long conversation, but not really what had been said, just a growing sense of anger and frustration. He thought he could remember standing, or trying to stand, then blackness.

Under the sandrinard headache he could feel another sharper pain - had he hit his head on something? And if so, what? The shuffling sound grew louder, and suddenly a pale, oddly squat, face looked into his own as if down a well.

Had he been able to move he would have jumped back, but he couldn't. He lay still and endured the curious stare. The head withdrew and Faramir heard a female voice speak in a language he did not understand. It returned a moment later, he was lifted and something wet was placed against his lips. She spoke again, then changed to the common tongue, "You're not dead, then. Not dead. And them wanting your lovely clothes, too. And your sword."

It was then he realised he was naked.

She offered him a little more water, and he swallowed it thankfully. It soothed his stomach, just a little.

"Who are you?" he said. He had intended his voice to be clear, strong and confident but what came out was a cross between a croak and a whisper.

Even then she said, "Not so loud, my lovely one. Not so loud. Gamil thinks you're dead, and better he does until I can get you out of here." She laughed and Faramir wondered about her sanity, not that there was much he could do. "Shitting tree trunks, that one is. Thinks he's killed the halfling prince's handsome husband. But we'll prove him wrong, won't we, my sweet? And see him hanging, like a ripe apple."

"Where am I?" he whispered, since it was clear he wasn't going to get an answer to his original question.

"In the cellar, with the other dead beauties, or nearly. But you're not dead, are you, my lovely? Don't go back to sleep. You can't sleep here." The woman offered him some more water, which he swallowed obediently. He resolutely kept his eyes open, listening to her move about. Time passed slowly, and Faramir wondered what hour it was outside. He seemed to have been in this place for hours though it could have been minutes or days for all he could tell.

The effects of the sandrinard receded and Faramir found that he could move a little, first his arms and hands, and then his legs. This was his first inkling that he was lying inside a box - and why the white face seemed to be looking down on him from a height. He guessed he was on the floor. The loudest noise came from somewhere above and away from him and a cover was placed over his box. Faramir swallowed. Coffin. They believed him dead. He flexed his fingers and toes as best he could.

A voice, a male, "Mim! Mim, where are you?" Faramir thought it sounded like Twotrees.

"Here, master." The woman; Faramir recognised that voice.

"You're needed, you useless lump! There's meals to be got, you can't be sat down here mooning over some dead prince. Move!"

A door slammed and Faramir almost moved, but the lid was lifted and the air stirred. The man's voice said, "Not but what you're worth a look." Faramir tried desperately not to show by a flicker of an eyelid or a breath that he was alive. "A waste, that body in the bed of a halfling. Or maybe not? They say how much he enjoyed you, and you endured it. Never showed if it disgusted you, but never a smile. Like one of those statues up at Deadman's Dike, a fallen king from an old tale." Twotrees dropped the coffin lid over him and Faramir winced at the noise. "Enough of this. You'll be rotting away soon enough." The door slammed again.

Faramir desperately tried to stay awake, but his head was still full of empty cloud and he closed his eyes.

He was shaken awake. This time he immediately recognised the voice: the woman Twotrees had called Mim. "You can't sleep, lovely one. Wake quickly, they're coming with shovels. Come!"

Faramir took a deep breath, and tried to sit up. He was mostly successful, though he flopped over the side of the coffin. The woman pulled him up by the arms and shoulders; it was painful, but he was able to stand. He leaned on her and climbed out.

"Here!" she said. "Sit!"

He did so, finding a barrel behind him. He watched her as she dropped two sacks of grain into the coffin. "You're no great weight, are you, my lovely?" she glanced over at him while she put down the lid. "Now, quick!" she said. "He'll be here soon," she helped Faramir, not to the door but to a wall.

He watched, wondering once again if she were insane. It appeared not, shelves pulled back and a black opening was revealed with a flight of stairs down. A sweetish, musty smell came up and Faramir clamped down hard on the need to vomit. "Hide you," Mim said, her voice low. "Until he's gone. Just until he's gone, I promise." She braced her strength against him.

The stairs were difficult, not steep or long but Faramir's legs had the consistency of boiled asparagus. Mim dropped him at the bottom of the stairs, shuffled back up and closed the door.

The darkness was complete and total. He could not tell whether his eyes were open or closed. He pulled himself shakily upright using the wall to lean on, and caught his breath. Moving very slowly he crept forward, feeling his way along the wall with both hands and feeling the floor with his feet. The ground seemed to be earth, dry packed, and the walls were shelved as far as he could tell. The horrible, sweetish smell was strong - and somehow familiar. He turned a corner, then another, then another. He stopped; he dared go no further, afraid of losing his bearings. He could feel he was sweating just from that exertion and cursed his reaction to sandrinard with what strength he had left.

A noise somewhere behind him caused his heart to race; he heard Twotrees' voice, "It's not as heavy as I would have expected."

There was grunt, also male, and another voice, "It's heavy enough. Where d'you want it buried?"

"Near the back, I think there's space... Hold that light up, stupid sow! How're we supposed to see?"

For now, Faramir could see a light coming round the corner. He moved as quickly as he could away from it as it advanced - stark fear was a considerable aid, he discovered. There were two of them, three if you counted the person with the light and he was naked and unarmed. He crouched down behind some barrels - he seemed to have gone as far as he could. Beside him, also providing some protection, was a set of ramshackle shelves holding two long boxes.

He watched as the two men dragged the coffin into the centre of the room. Twotrees went back and fetched two shovels; these he handed out, one to the other man and the other to the woman. The took the torch and pushed her, roughly. "Get digging, both of you. I want him nice and deep."

"You never bothered..."

"Get on with it, and stop your whining. Get on!" Twotrees struck the woman, and then the man. "We ain't got all night."

She made no protest at the blow, but raised the shovel obediently and started to dig. As she did so Faramir became aware of something he'd only vaguely been aware of before: the woman definitely had orc blood: that face and those slanted eyes. He'd realised of course that Mim was no beauty, but this had never struck him before. No reason why it should, of course, as far as he knew there were no orc women and even a half orc was something of a surprise. The man took a few seconds longer to obey, but did so in the end.

It took the two a long time to dig a hole large enough to please Twotrees, and Faramir felt his legs stiffen - it was extremely difficult staying low enough to remain hidden. After a while he had to lean on the shelves and hope the movement was invisible. It was slight relief, but sufficient to allow him to remain crouched - seeing what they were about he did not care to sit on the ground if he could avoid it, not to mention that he was not sure he could so without making a sound.

At last they dropped the coffin into the ground and covered it, Twotrees gave the cellar a comprehensive look round and Faramir held his breath. Twotrees turned and led the way out still holding the torch. The door closed, leaving the cellar in darkness again.

Faramir tried to move, his legs were cramping badly and he dropped to his knees, taking deep breaths. He attempted to stand again, this time using the shelves and boxes as leverage; this was more successful, he pulled himself up slowly. As he did so, he felt a crunch, which sounded loud in the dark and silence, and a part of the box broke off. He suppressed a yell of horror as something that had been inside flopped out and hit him. It hung there. It was cold, unpleasantly so, and the sweetish musty smell increased. Standing now, he moved slowly forward and felt a hand. A dead, cold, hand. It didn't move, but Faramir did - his instinctive jump back brought him in contact with the barrels and he cursed silently at the noise.

Moving very slowly and still shivering with horror, he made his way back to the rise of the stairs and let around for where he knew the opening must be. He could hear nothing in the room beyond.

It was difficult, feeling in the dark for a mechanism he knew must be there, but had no idea what it looked or felt like. At last he found a catch, and raised it. The door swung outward.

To his relief, the room beyond was empty. Now that he could see it properly it appeared to be some sort of store room attached to the kitchen and the light he'd been aware of came from a high and dirty window. It must have been night when he first woke, but now it was day and the room was at least somewhat lighter than it had been. He closed the door behind him, and it swung to with a soft snick which argued frequent oiling.

He leaned against it, and looked around again. The kitchen storeroom held nothing obvious by way of clothing; he had half hoped for an empty sack, or even a full sack that he could empty, but there was nothing. Still, he couldn't stay where he was.

He looked up at the windows. There were a couple of barrels he could use to help him climb, and he was thankful that he was now feeling strong enough to move them. The window was intended to open but was old; he surmised it was part of the old cottage. It took him some time to persuade the catch to come undone, but he managed it eventually, more out of desperation than anything else.

Had Faramir been a big man he'd never have managed to get through the window. As it was, the struggle cost him scrapes on his arms, legs and back, and once through he dropped to the ground with the grace of a sack of potatoes. From the quality of the light, Faramir guessed it to be very early morning. He stood up and leaned against the inn wall for a moment to get his bearings.

**

The first thing that Faramir was aware of when he walked into the Prancing Pony was an earth-shattering crash as Butterbur dropped a breakfast tray. Before he could speak, Faramir said, "Fetch Frodo. Now, Barliman."

"Bob!" yelled Butterbur. Faramir winced, his head still hurt and the fall from the window had not helped.

Bob arrived and stared at Faramir, "Prince Faramir, sir. Everyone's been so worried..."

"Go get Prince Frodo," said Butterbur, "and ask him to bring some clothes for the Prince. Go on, then!" One more stare, then Bob was gone. Butterbur turned, "You'll be wanting a room?"

Faramir had a mental vision of walking into the Common Room as he was. He couldn't help it, he laughed. He was sure it was more than half shock and it must have sounded it for Butterbur took him by the arm, "This way, sir. I'll get you a bath and something to eat, and Prince Frodo won't be more than a few minutes. He's been right worried about you and no mistake. Come on, sir."

"How long have I been..." Faramir tried to conquer his hysteria.

"About three days, or a little more."

"Three days?"

"Yes, sir."

"Butterbur? Is Alagosín around? And Borninmay?"

"Yes, sir." Butterbur steered him along a corridor and to an unoccupied room.

"Good. Send them to me as soon as you can." He wrapped himself in a sheet.

"I want a watch put on the Mucky Duck," said Faramir, when they arrived. That had been so quick that Faramir realised they must be staying at the inn.

"It's been searched," said Borninmay.

"Not well enough," said Faramir, "since that's where I was for the last three days. And you can wipe that look off your face; Gamil Twotrees tried to murder me, and very nearly succeeded. He must not be allowed to escape."

"At once, my Prince," Borninmay's look of shock was almost worth it.

"It's worse," said Faramir to Alagosín. He wrapped the sheet tighter around him. "Very much worse. Find me one of the Dunlendings, Cinadry if he has returned, though I suspect he met the fate that they intended for me, or Tuon. It must be someone who knew the girl Ketas well."

**

Frodo was nearly as angry as Faramir suspected he was going to be, but he did bring clothes. Frodo's anger with him Faramir easily identified as a result of fear, and forgave it even as the words were spoken: had Frodo disappeared for three days without word or explanation he'd have been furious.

Faramir was washed and dressed again before Alagosín returned with the Dunlending - as Faramir had suspected he'd found Tuon, who came in slowly and looked around the small parlour. His expression underlined as little could have the poverty of the village he came from: it was hard for Faramir to imagine anything else which would make a parlour in the Prancing Pony as impressive as the throne room at Minas Tirith.

Tuon's eyes widened still more at their dress: Frodo had brought the first thing which came to hand, an outfit which included a shirt so heavily encrusted with embroidery that Faramir hardly ever wore it, and had obviously been in the middle of a meeting requiring full formal dress.

"You know the girl, Ketas?" said Faramir.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well."

**

The fight was short but fierce, and Faramir was bone-weary. He was not sure that he wanted to know more, but he had no alternative. Searches - now they knew where to search - had turned up six sad coffins now in a row in the main room of the Mucky Duck. Outside might have been better, but Frodo did not want their investigations to be overlooked by the rest of the town.

Frodo, who took charge, first had Tuon meet those people in the Mucky Duck who were still alive: Ketas turned out to be a young girl with mouse-brown hair. She had spent the morning since they arrived with their men-at-arms weeping whenever anyone spoke to her, and often when they did not. This included Tuon, at whose arrival she howled.

Faramir had seen death in many forms, had even caused it in the course of defending Ithilien. This was different. These had not been fighting men who presumably knew the risks they faced, they were women, for the most part, and young. Some even had babies in the coffins. He felt, looking at them, as if he would never again be clean. Inconsequentially, he thought that it was just as well this had not been his favourite shirt; he would never again be able to wear it without remembering.

By the time they identified Cinadry, Faramir was so weary he could barely stand. As he left the inn he passed Mim, standing with the other prisoners, and heard her say, "I knew you'd do it for me, my lovely." He shivered.

**

He woke next morning in his own bed at Chetwood. He tried to sit up and found that every bone ached, "Lie still," came Frodo's voice.

"No," he said. "I need to move."

"I might have known there'd be no reasoning with you."

Faramir hauled himself into a sitting position and Frodo put pillows behind him, allowing him to lean back. The curtains were closed, but he could see a bright sunny day around the cracks. It didn't seem fair.

"You'll want to know what happened after I sent you back here."

"Yes," Faramir nodded and realised he still had a headache.

Cheesman came in with a tray, and Frodo put it on his lap. Toast, only slightly burned, and tea.

"Go on," he said, when Cheesman had gone.

"Start with this," Frodo handed him a goblet of some green liquid. It tasted vile, but Faramir drank it.

"What was that?"

"Tincture of willow bark. For the pain."

Faramir reached for the toast, hoping it would rid him of the taste. "One of Rose's?"

"Rose made it up, but it's from a book that Elrond gave Bilbo." Frodo pulled himself onto the side of the bed. "I have ordered Gamil Twotrees hanged. Alongside him will be three others, and the woman, Mim." He paused, "I'm sorry, Faramir, I know she saved your life, but she had a hand in what happened there: whenever those poor young women became inconveniently pregnant, which they did quite often, Twotrees was using her skill as midwife to...well, you can imagine."

Faramir hoped he didn't look as ill as he felt. "Do you think she'll know what's happening?"

"I don't know whether to hope she won't - or that she will."

"What do the people say?"

"If I had not ordered Twotrees - and five others - hanged, they would have done it themselves. Better, I think, that I should do it honestly and legally."

"We," said Faramir. "For I must also take responsibility, not least for not having noticed something was wrong."

"Now you are being foolish. Both you and I are comparative strangers here. How should we have seen it? Even Butterbur, who's lived here all his life, did not suspect the extent of the evil." Frodo shivered, and Faramir put an arm around him, and drew him close.

"There is much cruelty in the world that the Nameless Evil and his Ring had no hand in," said Faramir. "I suspect that the abuse of a few young girls would have not interested him much. I have even known Men who would see it as worth a bawdy joke, perhaps, but nothing more. Has Tuon taken Ketas back to Dunland?"

Frodo's face darkened, "No. I have no idea what Cinadry and the others expected to find, but Tuon says she can't return, that she's 'unclean'. All she does is weep, which I can entirely understand. I've left her with Rose; if anyone can talk some hobbit-sense into any of them, Rose can."

"I suppose..."

"No, Faramir. We cannot take in every stray kitten you find by the roadside or our household will be beyond feeding."

"I am responsible..."

Frodo sighed, "No, you are not. You offered to help, and it was a kind offer. You helped, and succeeded where none other had. They must take it from here."

"Sometimes you sound like my father."

Frodo looked up and smiled, "Because sometimes, my husband, your father's right. He ruled Gondor a long time, and one of the hardest parts of being a prince, as I've discovered, is knowing when to step back."

 

Part IX

What is better than presence of mind in a railway accident? Absence of body.  
Punch, vol. xvi p.231 1849

From the top of the castle battlements Faramir watched Thorin Stonehelm and his dwarves ride away the last few ponies carrying only baggage.

One did not die of grief, as he had cause to know, and when the sun went down behind him he climbed down the steps and went inside. It was warm in the parlour; Frodo looked up from his papers as Faramir came in, but said nothing. Faramir sat and looked into the flames without speaking. There was none he could tell, the only one he trusted sufficiently was Frodo, only Frodo would understand, but this was not something he could confide, even to him.

**

He remembered too well the day Thorin Stonehelm had arrived, his beard showed signs of grey but he was still a hale and well set up dwarf in the prime of life. Even so, it wasn't until he spoke, "Thorin son of Daín, King under the Mountain, at your service," that Faramir had felt a premonition: that deep voice which rolled like thunder had caused a shiver within that he'd been hard put to shake off. Only his self-control carried him through answering, "Faramir, husband to the Prince," after Frodo's greeting. Thorin's dark eyes lingered on him and Faramir had felt his face heat.

He had been careful, at first. He put aside his own wish to be present at every meeting and to go on every hunt with Thorin, taking care of the household until Thorin himself sought him out and said, "You are avoiding me, Prince Faramir."

"I..." Faramir looked around. They were alone. "I have had duties to attend to."

Thorin looked amused, "So I understand. Still, I believe that you can be spared from these pressing matters, at least for tomorrow."

Faramir closed his eyes for a moment. He felt as though he were being offered a time in the Blessed Realm and an interview in Sauron's dungeon at one and the same time. "I suppose... That would be very..." Faramir desperately tried to think of something to say. He was sure he must resemble a young girl asked for a walk by her first suitor, and reminded himself that he was a man, over forty, and married. "You must think me a fool," he said, at last.

Thorin smiled, "No, Prince Faramir. That is not what I think of you. Until tomorrow?"

It was cold and had rained, but the next day would remain forever golden in Faramir's heart. They had talked of nothing: the crops, the rain, the price of ale, yet every word was as precious to him as if it had been the song of Ilúvatar. Sometimes he thought Thorin knew the secret he held in his heart, that the understanding he saw in those dark eyes encompassed the words Faramir could not, dare not, ever say. At other times he was sure their guest was merely being a kind and understanding friend.

He would never know for sure.

The fire in the room had sunk lower, and Faramir looked round at Frodo, still bending over the pages, his pen moving. Frodo looked up, "What is the elvish for flower? Is it 'lote' or 'lothron'?"

"In what context?"

"I'm writing to Thranduil, I've to thank him for those plants Thorin brought. I should have done this before he left, but I was busy."

"I'd used lote. I think lothron means 'flowery'."

"Thank you."

Faramir returned to his silent contemplation of the fire. The plants had been brought by Thorin, but were a gift from Thranduil and the elves of Greenwood - as Mirkwood had been renamed. He remembered Thorin's curiosity with amusement: dwarves were not great farmers, or so he'd said.

A curiosity, then, why he'd made the journey to Eriador, which hardly had the iron or coal, gold or jewels likely to interest dwarves. He'd known, as soon as he asked, that the question presaged Thorin's leaving. Thorin had come to visit them, not merely stopped through on his way to the ancient cities of the dwarves in Ered Luin. Had Faramir imagined that his pain was shared? Probably he had. Had Faramir imagined understanding?

Thorin had almost reached out to touch him, but at the last moment had drawn back, "We are here," he said, "to prevent our enemies gaining the key to Moria."

Faramir remembered the conversation with Alagosín, and said, "We have learned that dwarves, some of them, sought to enter Moria."

For the first time with him, or so Faramir flattered himself, Thorin looked wary. "I have not given leave," he said, "nor will I."

The position of trusted friend was gone for the moment, and Faramir knew that he was now merely the husband of a foreign ally. "We have no interest in entering Moria, or any right to do so," said Faramir. "It nowhere borders our lands."

"And does your husband share your views?"

"They are Frodo's policies. I merely repeat his words." It felt strange, saying Frodo's name; they had never mentioned him before. "If you recall, Lord King, he travelled through Moria."

"He was fortunate."

"I believe that he would dispute that." Faramir considered for a moment and then asked, "Why do you and your kinsmen believe the key to Moria to be in Eriador?"

Thorin thawed somewhat. "All other places, likely and unlikely, have been searched. The last place remaining was the ruins of Fornost. Without the key to the entrance north of Hollin, Moria is closed to us."

"Perhaps it should remain so," said Faramir. Frodo hadn't told Faramir much about their journey, but what he had said froze the blood.

"Perhaps. But I would prefer that I had control of the decision rather than it be taken by others, perhaps without the good of all in mind." Thorin's voice was neutral, but there was a hint of a warning for all that.

"Had I the key, I would deliver it to you. Had I the knowledge of where it is, I would give you that, also," said Faramir. "I do not dispute your right."

"And your husband?"

"I believe he and I are of one mind on this. I also believe that he has no more knowledge of the matter than I do."

Next day, Thorin sought him out again, "I hope," he said, "that you were not offended by me words of yesterday."

"No," said Faramir. As it passed, Faramir recognised the look on Thorin's face as uncertainty.

"I am relieved," he said. "I would not wish to cause you pain." Thorin looked up into Faramir's eyes, and Faramir caught his breath. Thorin stepped back as if out of danger, breathing rather fast. "Yes," he said. "I'll go now. Good." He turned, leaving Faramir standing in the corridor.

That night the conversation turned to their experiences in Gundarbad. At least, it did not start there, but an idle question on the part of one of Thorin's entourage led to Frodo recounting their trip north, and their escape.

Faramir thought nothing of it until next day when Frodo produced the strange block Azogil had given him. He knew as soon as he saw Thorin's face, "It doesn't look like a key," he said.

"Intentionally so," said Thorin.

He only glanced up, but Faramir felt the look go through him like a spear thrust, and sitting in front of the parlour fire he felt the pain of that look in all its freshness. He looked at the fire, now burned very low indeed, and then round at Frodo, who had stopped writing.

Frodo crossed the room and sat in the chair beside him. After a moment, he took Faramir's cold hand and caressed it with his warm one. He said, "That was a cruel place. I'm glad you have returned."

Faramir reached out and pulled Frodo to him.

 

Part X

I'm afraid you've got a bad egg, Mr Jones.  
Oh, no, my Lord. I assure you! Parts of it are excellent!  
Punch, vol. cix p.222 1895

"Do they really need us?" said Faramir.

"King Elessar commands us. Not Strider, not even Aragorn," said Frodo. He sounded unimpressed; it was not often these days that Frodo was commanded, it seemed he had slowly become accustomed to being Prince of Eriador. "We're not being asked but told."

"Then we'll go. What a pity that neither of us much cares for celebrations."

**

Despite his initial misgivings, Faramir rode through the Gap of Rohan with a light heart. He had not returned to Minas Tirith since his handfasting ten years ago, and he was excited at the prospect of seeing the work that the King had done to the city, at seeing it for the first time in his life not weary, draggled and at war, but clean and bright and full of life. Seeing it as it should be, as it should always have been. But first there was Edoras.

Éomer met them the door of the Golden Hall and came forward to greet first Frodo and then Faramir and behind them Meriadoc and Peregrin - for they too had been commanded south. The only person in their party who was visibly less than thrilled was Rose, and Faramir stepped back to stand beside her. "Why am I here?" he heard her say.

"You're an honoured guest of the King," said Faramir, a little amused.

"He can't want me here..."

"His invitation was to both you and Samwise," Faramir glanced down at her.

"Out of courtesy, I'm sure," said Rose.

Faramir looked up; to his surprise Éowyn stood beside Queen Lothíriel and he looked automatically for Boromir. Éowyn frowned, but a moment later her expression cleared, and she greeted Rose serenely.

"Where are the children?" Rose asked Éowyn. Rose was finding her feet at last, or so it seemed.

Éowyn smiled, "They're with their tutors in Minas Tirith."

**

"Have you any idea what's going on?" asked Frodo, later when they were alone.

"No more than you, though it appears that Éowyn has not returned to Boromir."

"Has she said why?"

"Not to me. But then she and I...she was pressed to marry Boromir, and I married you."

Frodo sighed, "Yes, I suppose it would have...appeared wrong had you been too friendly with your brother's wife."

"A polite distance was safer."

Frodo looked away suddenly. He appeared weary, far beyond what Faramir would have expected from the journey, though it was that time when Frodo was usually unwell. "I am sorry, Faramir."

"What for?" he crossed the room and knelt by Frodo. "None of this is any fault of yours. If Boromir and Éowyn are unhappy that is their doing. We cannot know what would have happened had any of us taken another path."

Frodo reached out and touched Faramir's face, "You and she are so well suited."

"If she cannot be happy with Boromir, how much less so would she be with me?"

Frodo pulled Faramir to him, "You compare yourself with him still? My husband, you are the better man. I knew that as soon as I met you."

They kissed, gentle and undemanding.

**

So it was a large company that rode south to Minas Tirith. All the way Faramir could see signs of the changes and improvements that the return of the king to Gondor had wrought. Tilled fields instead of farms lying empty and wasted, farmers and peasants who stood by to watch them pass, their eyes curious rather than afraid, their children running alongside the cavalcade, laughing in pleasure.

Frodo looked ill, the journey exhausted him. Faramir tried to hide his worry, but Samwise was not fooled either by Frodo's dissembling or by Faramir's. "Can't think what King Elessar was thinking of," Samwise said, the night they camped by the Mering Stream, "dragging Mr Frodo all this way."

"He wants to share this anniversary with his friends," said Faramir. He tried very hard to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his voice, but Frodo's hand had been cold when Faramir had tried to tempt him with soup, and though it was barely sundown he was already asleep.

Samwise looked at him, and he realised how few times he and Sam had been in total accord. Samwise laughed, and Faramir said, "What?" in concern.

"I never liked it that he ended up with you, a great stern Man, rather than some merry hobbit-lass. But you care, and that goes a long way with me.

"Thank you, Sam," said Faramir, gravely. "You honour me with your trust. Even if it has been a long time coming."

"And perhaps one day you might learn to crack a joke," said Sam. Faramir blinked at him and Sam went on, "But I won't hold my breath."

**

In the years since he'd last seen Minas Tirith, it seemed to have grown. Then Faramir realised that this was not an illusion: it has grown. People were starting to live, and build, outside the city walls. That had been unthinkable in the days when Gondor was at war, but it looked and felt somehow right, if rather messy. Faramir wondered what his father made of it. Another contrast, as they drew closer, the great gates of the city stood open, and even as evening started to draw in they could see comings and goings - mostly goings at that hour - of people in and out of the city.

They had considered resting another night and waiting, but the prospect of decent beds, and baths, and food, drew then on until at last they reached the top of the citadel and were greeted by the King and Queen themselves.

"Is he always like this?" asked Queen Arwen, looking at Frodo after the initial greetings were over and they were all together.

"Every March and October, yes, my Queen," said Faramir.

Her concern deepened, "I had no understanding it was so bad. I had imagined that it was merely the journey that tired him."

"No," said Faramir. "This is how he usually is at this time of year."

"I may be able to help. I will consider the matter."

"I think in the meantime, my Queen, I shall take my husband to bed." He caught her look, and said, "I never did apologise for subjecting you to such a..."

"No apology is necessary, Faramir."

"But I..."

"Truly. I found it entertaining then and I would still now."

Faramir wanted to fall through the floor, "My Queen!"

"Come, we will talk away from all these people." She led him out onto a starlit terrace to sit on a seat where they could look down into the town, where the lamps were lit.

She paused for a moment, then said, "When I wedded Estel I had little experience of...lying with a man. None, actually. Though I am old by the measure of your kind, my father had guarded me well, and though I knew what men and women did together Estel had to teach me the reality of it. One understands, of course, that others do these things, but it is hard to imagine anyone one actually knows..."

Faramir felt his face heat. "I know," he said.

She laughed, "I will not embarrass you with the secrets of the king's marriage bed."

"I am grateful."

"But that night in Bree, you showed me that what Estel had said was true: others did enjoy it as he wanted me to and as I wanted to - and rose next day and faced the world without a hair out of place. Looking, actually, rather more cheerful than you usually do."

Faramir had to ask, "And the whip?"

"That was Estel's idea. More than half of my jokes are his idea." She looked around. "Oh. The Ringbearer looks exhausted. I think you really should take him to bed."

**

At the first Council meting they attended, Frodo was higher placed than Boromir as Prince of Ithilien and as equal to Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Faramir, as Frodo's consort, sat beside him and as he did so he noticed that Denethor did not look pleased. Boromir, on the other hand, looked as delighted as if it had been him receiving the honour. That the consort sat beside the prince was, Faramir knew, also a departure on the part of King Elessar, and it appeared that his father did not approve of that, either.

Frodo looked better with rest, and outlined their actions and decisions in Eriador to the assembled princes and lords, with emphasis on trade and taxes. As Faramir knew the contents of Frodo's speech - he'd written parts of it - he allowed himself to look around the Hall of Council. Elessar had had it thoroughly cleaned, possibly for this meeting, and the gold and marble showed up well: better than it ever had done in the Councils of Faramir's youth.

Éowyn, as Boromir's consort, sat beside him. Though they were in the same room, from their expressions they might as well have been in different countries. Faramir reminded himself firmly that the state of his brother's marriage was hardly his concern, but he could not help but wonder if there was ought he could do. He sighed, inwardly. He doubted it, and there was the risk that in trying he might mar more than mend.

Denethor, beside the King - who was ignoring his steward - looked at Faramir as at something grey and squirmy he'd found under a rock, but for the first time in his life Faramir found he didn't care. He and Frodo had achieved much given that Eriador and Arnor had not been ruled for many generations and that the King had acknowledged such in his introduction.

As soon as the meeting was over, Faramir sought out Boromir; he was alone, Éowyn had stalked off as soon as she could. Boromir turned and embraced his brother, "You're looking well - and uncommonly well dressed. Fashion in Eriador tends towards the..."

"Embroidered?" supplied Faramir.

"Something like that. Still, if Frodo likes it..."

"Frodo upsets the woman we have who deals with such matters by dressing very plainly. I try to cheer Ketas by wearing what she gives me. But how are you, my brother?"

"No doubt you saw. She does not speak to me, and I do not see enough of the children."

"Can nothing be done?"

Boromir shrugged, eloquently.

"Have you told her?" asked Faramir. No need to say what.

"Are you mad?"

Denethor interrupted them, "Where's your wife?" addressed to Boromir. Faramir was honestly shocked; he'd never heard Denethor speak to Boromir in quite that tone. Himself, yes, he fully accepted his position as family disappointment.

Boromir said, "She was here a moment ago. I expect she has returned to her room."

"When you see her, tell her I wish to speak to her about the road to Emyn Arnen."

"Would it not be quicker to speak to me?" said Boromir. Faramir wondered that his brother was keeping his temper in check. It was clearly a strain.

"No, it would not. Unlike you, Éowyn can be relied upon to remember what she is asked to do beyond the next meal."

"I see," said Boromir. "I will ask her to call on you at her convenience. If I remember beyond lunch."

"See that you do."

"Good morning, father," said Faramir, feeling he should say something.

Denethor turned to him, "Your husband spoke well."

"Thank you, father. I shall convey your compliments."

"He exaggerates, of course..."

"No, father, he does not," said Faramir. He knew that Denethor did not like to be interrupted, but could not let the slight to Frodo pass.

Denethor obviously didn't believe him; he could not say so without giving offence but for some reason was avoiding doing that. Faramir waited with what he hoped was polite gravity, Denethor gave both his sons a look in which disgust blended with irritation and turned on his heel.

"Is he always like that or has he become worse?" said Faramir as soon as their father was out of earshot.

"Everything has to be someone's fault; as you're not here for it to be yours, it has to be mine. Or the King's. Or Queen Arwen's. But mostly mine."

Faramir winced; he knew only too well what it felt like to endure Denethor's scorn day after day. "I'm sorry, my brother," he said, knowing it to be inadequate.

"Éowyn says it's good for me," said Boromir, sounding incongruously cheerful. "I expect she's right."

**

Faramir looked around the garden of the Houses of Healing; here at least were few changes. The recollection of the days following his waking were bittersweet, he was thankful that he remembered little of the fevered dreams he'd had after being struck with the Southron's dart - he knew he'd been close to death and his father to madness, but could see nothing of that time in his mind other than jagged patterns of red, black pillars, and then the face of King Elessar calling him back from where a yawning pit beckoned.

He stood on the parapet and looked out to the east and as if he had stepped back in time Éowyn came out of the door to the house and stopped. The illusion shattered a moment later when two boys followed her into the garden. One of them carried a ball which she caught in her hand as he passed her, "Not here, Elboron. It will go over the wall and then where will you be?"

Elboron looked sulky, but made no protest, the other boy said, "But mama! What are we to do?"

"Play 'hide'," said Éowyn, "there are plenty of places."

"Don't want to. I want to play ball," said the boy.

"Barahir! No! You will lose it."

By this time she was close to Faramir, who smiled at her politely. "Good afternoon, Éowyn," he said.

"Who are you?" said Barahir, then "Ow!" as Éowyn smacked him - fairly gently - on the back of the head. He rubbed the place, scowling.

"Manners!" said Éowyn. "This is your uncle, Prince Faramir of Eriador."

"Oh, yes," said Barahir after a moment's thought. "The one grandfather sold off to a halfling man."

Faramir knew he would never forget the horrified look on Éowyn's face. "Yes," he said, looking down at the boy as gravely as he could, "that Uncle Faramir."

"I am so sorry, Faramir," said Éowyn. "Apologise to your uncle. Immediately! I don't know where you pick up such things."

"A man in the stables told one of the grooms," said Barahir. "Isn't it true, then? Because I thought it sounded really exciting. Nothing exciting ever happens here."

"Apologise!" said Éowyn.

"I really think you should," said Faramir. "Before my husband hears of it."

"Would he run me through?" asked Barahir, "In vengeance for the stain on his honour?"

Faramir was reminded of the tales of the Rohirrim told in the halls of Meduseld - no doubt the boy had heard them from babyhood. "No," he said, "but he would be annoyed to hear that you insulted me."

Barahir looked up at him, clearly thinking. It was a shock to see Boromir's eyes in so young a face. The boy said, "I suppose grandfather would be annoyed as well?"

"Yes, he would," said Éowyn.

Another pause. "I'm sorry I insulted you, Uncle Faramir. No slight was intended to you or your husband."

"Thank you," said Faramir. "I accept your apology."

"Will you tell me how it was, then?" Barahir asked.

Éowyn's expression became anguished, "No!" she said. "It's none of your affair."

Faramir smiled at her, and then down at Barahir. He thought of his own curiosity at that age, "What is it that you wish to know?"

"Your husband is a halfling - I saw you with him from the balcony when you arrived. So that part is true. But where does the money come into it?"

"The receiving of a dowry on marriage is a custom of my husband's people - it's the opposite of being sold. You have heard of the periannath, Frodo of the Nine Fingers?"

"Of course. They will sing the Lay again tomorrow, they always sing it at New Year. I wish they wouldn't. There are not nearly enough deaths."

Faramir winced. Poor Frodo, he thought. He said, "My husband is the Ringbearer, the hero of the lay."

"I thought all lays are about people who are dead."

"Well, we are not yet dead. Have you ever listened to the end, when they sing of your mother's battle with the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar?"

"No."

"Stay awake for that, it should be a battle enough to satisfy even your tastes. Much better than the end of the story, the stanzas when the King marries the Queen and Frodo marries me. Fall asleep through that. I always do."

"I like you, Uncle Faramir. You're wild!"

"Wild?" said Faramir to Éowyn as Barahir ran off to join his brother who was reading under a tree.

"All the children of the city are saying it about anything good," she said. "I'm sorry he was rude to you: I'm afraid our stays in Edoras have not been good for his manners."

"I know what people say about me on the street, as opposed to the cleaned and sanctified words of the Lay."

"I'm sorry, Faramir. It must be hard for you."

"No. I'm too busy to pay it much mind." He sat down on a nearby bench.

She joined him, "And Frodo? What does he say?"

"He's never mentioned it. I would imagine he knows, but we've both got better things to do than to upset ourselves over ignorant gossip. And in Eriador they understand the concept of a dowry."

They watched the children; Barahir seemed to object to his brother reading, and Faramir was reminded of the days when he would have his book pulled out of his hand by a brother intent on a game. But of course he had been the younger; Elboron was so far managing to hold on to his book.

After a time, she said, "I would have handfasted to you."

He smiled at her, to soften his words, "And I would have asked, had my father not made it clear to me that my brother was preferred."

"Not by me."

"To my father, marriage is a matter of politics. It has nothing to do with affection."

Éowyn smiled back, "Had that been the case for Théoden, I would have been handfasted to Grìma Wormtongue as soon as I had my menses."

He looked out over the garden, not really seeing the flowers, "I know. Not that it helped me, father would never have given his consent to my handfasting anyone he preferred for Boromir unless my brother were dead. And, perhaps, not even then."

"Denethor often speaks well of you," said Éowyn, after a moment. "Of your obedience to Frodo, at any rate."

Faramir smiled to himself, "At least I have one good quality in my father's eyes, now. That's one more than when I left."

Éowyn waited for a moment and then stood and turned to face east. "It's still hard, sometimes, to remember that we're over it and everything changed. We owe everything we have and are to the Ringbearers."

"Yes," said Faramir. He also stood, and looked down into the city; he could see Boromir and a company of men toiling up the incline towards the citadel. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again when he saw the carefully blank expression on Éowyn's face.

**

"You saw Éowyn," said Boromir. "How were my boys?" Faramir must have looked puzzled, because he added, "One of the healers told me."

"Oh. They're both fine - spirited lads."

"They're splendid, aren't they?"

"Wonderful. Elboron seems rather shy, but that can't be said of Barahir," Faramir was trying hard not to laugh.

"What did he say to you?" Boromir had the guarded look a parent prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, Faramir was sorry for teasing his brother. "It was nothing," he said. "And he apologised for it in any case."

"If he had to apologise, it can't have been nothing. But I will not press you; if the blame can be laid at my feet then no doubt Éowyn will tell me what it was."

Faramir sighed, he hoped silently.

**

Frodo coped with the singing about as well as Faramir expected he would: his expression was frozen into a mask of mild enjoyment. Faramir remembered that Sam and Frodo had been genuinely thrilled when they first heard the lay sung here in Minas Tirith. The pleasure had worn off very quickly for Frodo; it never had for Sam.

Faramir resigned himself to a disturbed night; bad dreams assailed Frodo when he was reminded of Mordor and Mount Doom. There was little Faramir could do to help, but he would do what was possible - a relaxing simple before they took to bed, keep Frodo warm, a supply of heated spiced wine on hand should he wake. No poppy tincture - it made the dreams worse and Frodo could not wake so could not throw them off.

Next day Faramir felt half awake; it had been worse than usual. Much worse, as if proximity to Mordor brought the memories closer. He left Frodo in bed, sleeping at last, and walked slowly through the halls of his childhood, remembering.

"Faramir?"

He looked up to see Aragorn surveying him with puzzlement and concern. He felt his face heat; he'd walked straight into the council chamber unannounced. "My apologies, sire."

"None are needed," said the King. "I was alone here. You look tired."

"Oh," said Faramir, wondering if he were making sense.

"Ah. I take it Frodo had little sleep, so you didn't either."

"Yes," said Faramir.

"This way," said Aragorn, finally taking him by the shoulder.

**

Faramir woke up. From the feel of the day it was some hours later, and he looked around in puzzlement; he had never seen this room before, at least as far as he knew. A door opened behind him and Queen Arwen said, "Welcome back, Faramir." Then to someone else that he could not see, "Put the tray there, I'll manage." The door closed again.

"Some tea?" Arwen sat down.

Faramir realised he was on a soft couch, covered with a blanket. He sat up and the blanket fell away. He was dressed, but without his boots, "Where am I?"

"Our apartments. That is, Estel's and mine. Estel brought you here - and don't worry about Frodo, Estel is with him."

"I... That is, it is my duty. I must go."

"No, Faramir. We have been remiss in letting you carry this burden alone. At least while you are here it can be helped."

"It's not a burden," said Faramir, immediately coming to Frodo's defence. "It's not usually this bad."

"I know. It is the time of year and the closeness of it. Estel and I, we should have considered that before requesting you make the journey. We are sorry, both of us."

"It's nothing."

She smiled at him, "Have something to eat and drink. Sit with me for a while, then you can return to your husband."

Faramir took the cup she offered him, "Thank you."

"And we will talk of other things. I understand you met Boromir's sons? How did you find them?"

Arwen's company was soothing and restful, almost as much as the sleep he'd had. He returned to the rooms he shared with Frodo feeling very much better. Frodo was also sitting up, he and Aragorn in quiet conversation. From the little Faramir heard before they were aware of his presence, it was once again about trade and taxes.

This was no surprise to Faramir; absent the Dark Lord and his minions he'd noticed while growing up that fully three quarters of his father's conversations had been about trade, taxes or both. Most of the rest were about roads or crops. Several times it had occurred to Faramir to wonder why anyone wanted to become king, prince or Steward. He recalled long days spent learning his father's duties - the time Denethor had spent five days in meetings discussing city drainage stood out in his mind. In Bree, he had himself spent two days discussing wells and the water supply.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Aragorn. He sounded amused, and had obviously been watching him for some time.

"Matters of great moment," said Faramir. "At least to princes and kings."

"I had hoped it would be gossip, at least," said Aragorn.

"Only if you consider wells and drainage to be gossip."

Aragorn looked suddenly interested, "You know about city drainage?"

Faramir sighed.

**

Next day Frodo was much better - he and Faramir had slept well, which had a great deal to do with it, but it was more as if, with the coming of the New Year a crisis had passed, and once more Frodo was able to look forward with some degree of confidence. Faramir was deeply relieved, and he could see that King Elessar and Queen Arwen shared his feelings. He had always known that the king cared for Frodo, it shone from his letters, and he now saw that caring demonstrated in person once again as it had not been for years.

With that in mind, Faramir wondered that his thoughts turned back to Eriador. He was surprised that he now thought of the north as his home rather than Minas Tirith and Gondor, but he supposed it came from putting so much of himself into building it up - given the state of Eriador one could hardly say rebuilding it. He and Frodo were very much starting from scratch.

He could also very quickly become bored with council meetings - the more so as there was no council in Eriador. The one he was currently attending seemed to have been going on for an age, though the shadows on the pillars showed it to have been merely an hour or a little more. Perhaps it was unworthy of him, but he was amused to note that Boromir looked bored and impatient. Faramir had always known his brother to be more of a warrior than a councillor and it appeared he had not changed. Even during the war, Boromir had been more inclined to action than strategy.

Faramir wasn't even quite sure why Boromir or Éowyn were there - the king had called this meeting to discuss his plans for the north, and in theory he only needed Denethor, Frodo and Éomer. He had invited their consorts out of courtesy; as Arwen helped him rule Gondor he assumed their consorts did likewise and besides, he liked his example followed.

Faramir exchanged a smile with Lothíriel of Rohan; Éomer's wife had grown up in Dol Amroth, had learned to weave and sew as was usual for women of her station, and had not expected any part of the running of Rohan to fall on her slender shoulders, but she had risen to the challenge magnificently. She looked down, studying the map of the north with a slight frown on her face.

The only consort missing was Prestoliel, her excuse a headache. She had attended only one meeting since Faramir and Frodo had arrived in the city, and appeared to wilt through that, to Denethor's visible irritation. Faramir spared some pity for her; being one of Denethor's sons was bad enough, being his wife must be all-but intolerable. He had been too young when Finduilas died to be aware of all that was going on around him, but all said that Denethor had loved his first wife. It was clear to Faramir that Prestoliel was not so fortunate.

The meeting started to break up at last, and Faramir gathered his and Frodo's papers together. He kept his eyes down, intentionally not looking at anyone: he could hear Éowyn speaking to Boromir, and he winced. If Denethor was rude to Boromir, Éowyn was positively caustic, and if this was an example of what she could do when annoyed, he was relieved that he hadn't married her.

He could no longer reasonably pretend to be ordering papers, and when his father passed he looked up. Everyone except Denethor had found reason to look away - Éomer was staring at a stylised leaf on a pillar as if it were truly remarkable and the King gazed out of the window. Denethor stood, impatiently waiting for Éowyn to finish.

Finally, Boromir spoke, "You would rather I were a dead hero than a live coward." He was looking straight at Frodo.

Faramir stood up, though he had no idea what he might say.

"Nobody believes that of you," said Denethor, into the silence that followed.

"Then they would be wrong," Boromir turned away from Éowyn to face his father, "and nobody knows that better than you."

"I don't understand," said Éowyn.

"He ran," said Frodo, as if discussing the prospects for the wheat crop in the Southfarthing. "That day at Sarn Gebir."

Faramir saw his brother close his eyes for a moment, but the only surprised face was that of Éowyn. She looked at Boromir, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"That was my doing," said Frodo. Faramir stared at him in puzzlement, aware he was not the only one who did so.

"Ah," she said. "Had I turned him down..." She looked at Faramir.

"Just so," said Frodo. "Come, my husband."

"Did you mean that?" asked Faramir, as soon as they were outside.

Frodo glanced up, "Have you ever noticed," he said, "that very often what people need to bring them together is something outside themselves to thoroughly dislike?"

"Yes," said Faramir. Then, "Ah, I see."

"She now knows the truth about him, and they both have someone to blame."

"And we live leagues away," said Faramir. He thought for a moment, then added, "He still has to explain his actions at Sarn Gebir."

"It is long past time that your brother discovered that one must admit to failures, disappointments and temptations as well as successes. Admit them at least to one's wife - or husband."

Faramir took a deep breath, "Did you know I was...?"

"Tempted by Thorin? It was written all over you." Frodo considered for a moment, and then said, "I doubt anyone else noticed - other than Thorin - but I spent a long time desperately wanting someone who wasn't interested in me."

Faramir said, "He didn't really want me. There was no honour on my part in resisting him."

"I think you do yourself a disservice, but he too was married. Dwarves don't discuss their women but from what I understand, if his wife - her name is Filís - ever discovers he even looked at you, king or no, there won't be enough left of Thorin Stonehelm to fill a chamber pot. Dwarves and their women don't give second chances." By this time they were alone in their rooms. Frodo removed his jacket and sighed, "You need have no doubts, my husband. You are very much admired and I am much envied." Then he smiled, "I admit this gives me a certain quiet joy."

Faramir laughed, "You have the most curious way of improving my mood."

"Did it work?"

"Yes, it did. Thank you."

"Is my cunning sufficient to persuade you into my bed?"

Faramir smiled, "You could persuade me to take on the forces of Barad-dûr single handed."

**

Night had fallen when they arrived at the castle of Chetwood. Faramir noticed that someone had re-hung the gates since they left and that there was some slight improvement to the portcullis, though he sincerely hoped they never had to trust their lives to it. He and Frodo exchanged a long-suffering glance as Cheesman ambled out of the main door, and looked at them mildly curiously as if they were passing flower sellers rather than princes. "Oh," he said, scratching an unshaven chin, "it's you."

"Yes," said Faramir. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to an equally dishevelled groom. "We're back."

**

The end.


End file.
